UC-NRLF 


2M    515 


THE  -  LAYMAN  -  REVATO 

EDWARD  - P • BVF  F  ET 


GIFT   OF 


THE  LAYMAN  REVATO 


To  the  Librarian : 

The  accompanying  copy  of  "The  Layman  Revato; 
A  Story  of  a  Restless  Mind  in  Buddhist  India  at  the  time 
of  Greek  Influence,"  is  sent  without  charge,  trusting  that 
you  will  place  it  permanently  upon  your  shelves  and  so 
classify  it  that  it  may  be  found  by  studious  readers  inter 
ested  in  the  subjects  to  which  it  relates.  It  is  a  work  of 
research  and  reflection,  appealing  little  to  the  ordinary 
novel  reader;  hence  its  fictional  structure  might  be,  so  far 
as  possible,  ignored.  For  the  guidance  of  your  cataloguer 
I  may  suggest  that  the  chief  topics  of  the  book  are  Bud 
dhism  and  India  (historical,  literary,  philosophical),  while 
other  possible  references  would  be  the  following:  Period 
of  Asoka;  Greek  Philosophy;  Alexander  the  Great  (his 
influence  on  Asia) ;  Comparative  Religions;  Pali  Literature. 

A  formal  acknowledgement  is  unnecessary,  but  I 
would  appreciate  a  postal  upon  receipt,  stating  that  the 
book  has  arrived  and  will  be  preserved  in  your  library. 
Respectfully, 
EDWARD  P.  BUFFET, 

804  Bergen  Avenue, 

Jersey  City,  N.  J. 


THE   LAYMAN   REVATO 


A  STORY  OF  A  RESTLESS  MIND  IN 

BUDDHIST  INDIA  AT  THE  TIME  OF 

GREEK  INFLUENCE 


BY 

EDWARD  P.   BUFFET 


EDWARD  P.  BUFFET 
804  BERGEN  AVENUE 
JERSEY   CITY,  N.  J. 

i  Address  for  orders  or  other  correspondence.) 

I  '»..  

1914 


COPYRIGHT,      1914,    BY 
EDWARD     P.    BUFFET 


PREFACE 


The  meeting  of  West  and  East  through  Alexander's 
invasion  is  better  known  to  us  as  a  glittering  gener 
ality  than  in  its  detailed  results.  Obscure  is  the 
effect  of  Hellenic  influence  upon  Bactria  and  India. 
Archeological  research,  however,  is  revealing  the 
Graeco-Buddhist  buildings  and  sculptures  of  Gand- 
hara  and  other  districts,  where  oriental  ideas  are 
carried  out  with  a  classic  technique.  We  have 
learned  that  the  Buddho  figure,  which  is  now  so 
familiar  all  over  Eastern  Asia,  and  which  to  us 
appears  so  characteristically  "native,"  is  really  a 
debased  copy  of  a  Grecian  original.  Before  the 
coming  of  the  "Yonakas,"  it  appears  that  Buddho's 
disciples  had  not  presumed  to  depict  their  master 
otherwise  than  by  the  symbol  of  a  tree,  a  footprint, 
or  the  like. 

Such  tangible  memorials  as  stone  images  but 
feebly  indicate  the  mutual  influences  and  modifica 
tions  that  may  have  taken  place  in  two  great  religions 
which  were  opposite  as  the  poles  of  the  earth  in  their 
attitude  toward  life.  One  stood  for  self-repression, 
the  other  for  self-expression;  one  for  "the  will  to 
refrain,"  the  other  for  "the  will  to  act";  one  for  the 
gospel  of  Tolstoi  and  the  other  for  the  gospel  of 
Nietzsche.  Such  is  the  great  issue  between  East  and 
West.  Upon  it  the  world  was  divided  then  and  is 
divided  to-day.  It  united,  in  Christianity,  to  a 
synthesis  which  again  and  again  has  been  broken 
up.  It  still  wages  war  within  the  mind  of  many  an 
individual,  as  of  Henri-Frederic  Amiel.  While  we 
dwell  upon  the  meeting  of  the  two  cultures,  we 
shall  fail  of  our  lesson  if  we  find  in  it  merely  an  idle 
story  of  the  past  and  do  not  allow  its  appeal  to  our 
innermost  feelings,  or  realize  that  it  is  alive  with 
relevancy  to  the  problems  of  the  modern  world. 

The  present,  largely  historical,  although  structur 
ally  imaginative,  study  is  a  rendering  of  Indian  life 
and  thought  toward  the  close  of  the  third  century 
B.  C.,  in  the  last  days  of  Piyadasi,  Asoko,  the 
"Buddhist  Constantine."  It  projects  an  interplay 
between  Buddhism  and  Hellenism,  like  that  which 
has  left  a  trace  on  the  Punjab  monuments,  into  the 
Ganges  valley  at  this  earlier  period;  yet  where  and 
when  an  intercourse  had  actually  been  established 
for  two  generations.  We  shall  see  an  architect  and 
sculptor,  whom  Asoko  has  procured  from  a  Western 
land,  beautifully  externalizing  the  conceptions  of 
the  puritanic  Buddhism,  yet  perverting  them  by  an 
idolatrous  apotheosis.  As  we  bring  together,  in 
many  ways,  the  cultures  and  ideals  of  East  and 
West,  we  shall  observe  their  reactions,  thus  making  a 
moral  laboratory  study  of  the  world. 

But  this  is  not  all  that  my  book  means.  So  com 
plex  are  its  contents  and  purposes,  that  I  do  not 
know  how  to  indicate  them  in  brief.  On  one  hand, 
it  is  a  conglomerate  from  the  literature  of  its  age, 


having  cost  such  long  and  painstaking  research  as 
one  puts  into  a  large  treatise  on  history  or  philoso 
phy.  The  different  lines  of  study  that  I  have  fol 
lowed  for  it  cannot  here  be  enumerated.  Bewilder 
ing,  however,  as  is  the  mass  of  material  accumulated, 
I  trust  that  those  who  explore  it  carefully  will  find 
a  strong  unity. 

I  solicit  the  attention  of  the  thoughtful  student 
rather  than  of  the  amusement  seeker.  It  is  regret 
table  that  space  does  not  permit  copious  notes  and 
citations  which  might  distinguish  the  large  number 
of  extracts  from  Pali  literature  and  other  informatory 
matter  scattered  throughout.  I  am  sorry  that  this 
is  knit  together  by  fiction,  but  how  otherwise  could 
I  have  had  freedom  to  treat  the  subject  so  humanly 
as  I  have  tried  to  do?  For,  after  all,  neither  history 
nor  romance  is  here  primary,  but  an  endeavor  to 
peer  into  some  of  the  most  inscrutable  mysteries  of 
duty  and  to  witness  the  travail  of  a  soul.  Whoever 
does  not  bring  hereto  something  of  personal  experi 
ence,  will  carry  nothing  away. 

However  strongly  Buddhist  is  the  temperament  of 
my  created  character,  Revato,  he  must  be  under 
stood  as  having  one  of  those  morbidly  adventurous 
minds  which  cannot  be  bonded  by  any  imposed 
philosophy.  Whether  the  ideas  ascribed  to  him  are 
natural  outgrowths  from  the  Buddhism  of  his  day, 
are  modern  ones  grafted  thereupon,  or  are  truly 
independent  of  time  and  place — this  question  I 
leave  to  the  few  critics  qualified  to  judge.  In  justice 
to  Christianity,  I  admit  a  possibility  that  I  have 
credited  to  an  earlier  age  some  moral  perceptions 
which  are  peculiarly  its  own.  Moreover,  there  is 
certainly  in  Revato  a  pathological  element. 

Pseudo-mystics  and  fad  religionists  have  rendered 
the  very  word  "Oriental"  suspicious.  In  spite  of  the 
Epilogue,  there  may  be  a  reluctance  to  read  my 
book  on  the  part  of  serious  Christian  thinkers,  whom 
I  am  especially  anxious  to  reach,  and  who  ought  to 
sympathize  with  the  deep  soul  of  Revato.  Is  it  to 
be  condemned  that,  while  reverting  to  a  time  cen 
turies  before  the  Galilean  ministry,  and  dwelling 
among  some  of  its  noblest  anticipations,  an  author 
should  heartily  drink  the  spirit  of  his  surroundings? 
Christ  is  now  supreme,  however  usefully  Buddho 
may  be  qualified  to  serve  as  His  helper,  and  the  de 
mand  of  Christianity  to  be  spread  everywhere  is 
implied  in  its  very  nature. 

A  word  in  passing  as  to  the  coincidences  so 
constantly  met  with  in  comparative  study  of  reli 
gions.  The  tyro  is  sure  to  frame  ambitious  hypotheses 
of  borrowing.  Wider  reading  should  teach  him  cau 
tion  in  theorizing,  because  of  the  very  redundancy  of 
such  resemblances  and  because  they  can  be  found 
where  borrowing  is  out  of  the  question.  For  example, 
I  once  compiled  a  list  of  startling  likenesses,  in 


PREFACE 


minute  detail,  between  the  lives  of  Buddho  and  St. 
Francis.  There  is  much  yet  to  be  explained  about 
the  law  of  coincidence  in  Religion,  Jurisprudence, 
Biology  and  other  lines.  Is  it  impossible  that,  after 
all,  life  may  be  subtly  directed  by  a  tendency  of 
approximation  to  certain  ideals  or  arch-types,  among 
which  humanity  standardizes  the  animal  world  and 
Jesus  the  spiritual? 

Coming  back  to  "Revato,"  let  me  say  that  the 
Parayana  monastery  is  not  historical,  but  that  in 
great  measure  the  description  of  Pataliputta  city, 
and  still  more  that  of  Rajagaha,  has  been  worked 
out  by  laborious  research.  Most  of  the  monasteries 
mentioned  in  the  story  are  real. 

In  many  cases  I  have  followed  native  tradition  uncritically, 
as  in  attributing  the  authorship  of  certain  sayings  to  Buddho 
and  his  diciples,  the  walls  of  Rajagaha  to  Govindo.  My  knowl 
edge  of  Indian  natural  history  has  largely  come  from  ancient 
sources;  I  have  often  used  Pali  names  for  trees,  etc.,  and  such 
description  as  those  of  the  forest  voices  in  Chapter  XIII  are 
idealized.  "Gotamo's  Gate,"  on  the  north  of  Pataliputta  city, 
is  assumed  to  be  shifted  from  its  traditional  site  in  the  west  side 
of  the  old  village.  Too  late  I  find  that  I  probably  erred  in 
dating  the  river  flood  stage  after  the  close  of  the  rainy  season, 
rather  than  within  that  period. 

Nearly  all  the  Greek  poetry  used  I  have  put  into  its  present 
metrical  form,  availing  of  such  prose  translations  as  are  found  in 
Lang's  "Homeric  Hymns"  and  Wharton's  "Sappho."  They  are 
adapted  at  pleasure;  thus,  I  have  not  hesitated  to  make  patchwork 
of  Sappho  fragments,  nor  to  incorporate  in  an  Anacreonic  ode  a  fit 
ting  line  from  Theocritus.  Certain  quotations  are  verbatim  in 
Way's  spirited  verse,  namely,  his  Euripidean  choruses,  "Flowing 
with  milk  is  the  ground,"  from  the  "Bacchanals,"  and  "Oh,  the 
works  of  the  Gods,"  from  "Andromache." 

The  Buddhist  poetry  I  have  spent  much  time  in  working  out 
from  the  books  of  the  Pali  canon,  sometimes  with,  often  without, 
close  reference  to  other  translations.  Much  has  been  taken  from 


the  "Thera-  and  Theri-Gatha, "  so  beautifully  rendered  into 
German  by  Karl  E.  Neumann,  under  the  title,  "Die  Lieder  der 
Monche  und  Nonnen  Gotamo  Buddho's"  (Ernst  Hofmann  & 
Co.,  Berlin).  Just  on  going  to  press,  I  have  had  the  advantage  also 
of  Mrs.  Rhys  David's  English  translations  of  the  same,  "Psalms 
of  the  Brethren  and  Sisters"  (published  for  the  Pali  Text  Society 
by  Henry  Frowde).  Neither  of  these  translators,  however,  is  to 
be  held  responsible  for  my  free-and-easy  renderings,  some  of 
which  I  now  discover  to  be  quite  distorted  from  their  real  mean 
ings,  yet  in  a  manner  which  adapts  them  well  to  my  present 
literary  purpose.  The  poems  and  fragments  from  this  collection 
are  chiefly  those  on  pages  i,  2  (both);  8,  10,  15  (first);  26  (sec 
ond);  31,  34  (last);  46,  50  (first);  67,  75,  79  (third);  80  (third); 
81,  82  (second);  83  and  92. 

In  several  poetic  fragments  and  otherwise,  I  have  followed,  or 
been  helped  by,  Strong's  "Udana,"  Miiller's  "Dhammapada"  and 
Fausboll's  "Sutta-Nipata."  On  the  last  are  based  the  lines 
concerning  Nibbana,  late  in  Chap.  I  and  the  Further  Shore, 
beginning  Chap.  VI,  both  of  which  are  adapted  from  my  versions 
printed  in  the  "Open  Court,"  Chicago. 

I  have  no  idea  how  many  hundred  books  I  have  read  or  con 
sulted  in  preparing  for  "Revato,"  and  cannot  give  a  list  sufficient 
to  cover  even  my  real  indebtedness,  but  the  following  deserve 
mention:  Everything  of  T.  W.  Rhys  Davids',  especially  his 
"Buddhist  India";  also,  in  the  "Sacred  Books  of  the  East"  series, 
his  "Buddhist  Suttas"  and  (with  Oldenberg)  "Vinaya  Texts," 
from  which  source  books  I  have  worked  into  my  story  numerous 
passages.  Like  every  Pali  student,  I  add  my  praises  to  Childers' 
wonderful,  if  obsolete,  dictionary;  among  other  uses,  it  has  served 
me  extensively  as  a  phrase-book.  Much  has  come  from  Cowell's 
Cambridge  edition  of  the  Jataka,  Warren's  "Buddhism  in 
Translations,"  Smith's  "Asoka, "  Beal's  "Hiuen  Tsiang, " 
Legge's  "Fa-Hien,"  Cunningham's  "Ancient  Geography  of 
India"  and  "Archeological  Survey  Reports,"  Waddell's  "Ex 
cavations  at  Pataliputta, "  Lassen's  "  Indische  Alterthumskunde, " 
Foucher's  "Art  Greco-Bouddhique  du  Gandhara,"  Cams' 
"Gospel  of  Buddha,"  Moore's  "Iti-Vuttaka,"  Peer's  "Sutra 
d'Upali,"  Philpot's  "Sacred  Tree,"  Farrar's  "Old  Greek  Nature 
Stories,"  Easby-Smith's  "Songs  of  Alcaeus,"  Buckley's  "Euripi 
des,"  Fairbanks'  "First  Philosophers  of  Greece,"  Kerr's  "Bac- 
chae,"  J.  M.  Edmonds'  "Sappho  Fragments,"  in  the  Classical 
Review,  June,  1909. 


[vi] 


THE  LAYMAN  REVATO 

CHAPTER  I 
GIJJHAKUTA,  THE  VULTURE'S  PEAK 


Autumn  life  is  fast  returning 

Where  the  spoiling  storm  winds  blew; 

Limbs  are  leaved  and  boughs  are  burning, 

Flaming  every  floral  hue. 

Tis  a  year-time  strong  with  yearning; 

Valorous  man,  it  calls  on  you. 

Tree  buds  crumble  here  and  yonder, 
Prodigal  with  flocks  and  scents; 
Fruits  on  every  fluttering  frond  are 
Waxing  large  in  recompense. 
'Tis  a  moon  when  strong  men  wander. 
Hasten  to  be  going  hence! 

Thus  have  I  heard.  At  a  certain  time  many  bhik- 
khus  of  the  Sangha  were  dwelling  through  the  rainy 
season  at  the  priories  in  the  Bambu  Grove  and  JI- 
vako's  Mango  Grove  by  Rajagaha.  But  the  Vener 
able  Bharadvajo  and  the  Venerable  Kondanno, 
likewise  mendicants  of  the  Society,  dwelt  in  leaf 
huts  which  they  had  built  on  the  mountain  of  the 
Vulture's  Peak.  When  the  four  months'  rain  ceased, 
as  the  moon  came  to  a  full  in  the  early  winter 
month  Kattika,  the  brethren  held  the  great  festival 
of  Pavarana — "Invitation" — mutually  inviting  re 
buke  for  offences  seen  or  heard  or  suspected,  and 
having  received  new  robes,  they  set  forth  upon  their 
journeyings  about  the  country. 

Now  on  the  day  which  began  the  forthwandering, 
toward  sunset,  the  young  lay  disciple,  Revato 
Yuvano,  Receiver  of  Royal  Customs  at  Rajagaha, 
having  ascended  the  mountain  of  the  Vulture's  Peak, 
drew  near  to  where  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo  and 
the  Venerable  Kondanno  were.  Having  drawn 
near,  he  passed  around  them,  keeping  his  right  side 
toward  them,  and  took  his  seat  respectfully  at  a 
little  distance.  When  seated,  he  addressed  them 
thus: 

"Long  life  to  your  Reverences." 

To  this  vain  greeting,  as  Buddho  had  expressly 
permitted,  they  answered  for  civility's  sake:  "May 
you  live  long,  avuso — friend." 

"How  soon  do  you  start,  bhavanta — Reverend 
Sirs — and  whitherto?"  asked  Revato. 

"To-morrow  before  the  meal,"  Kondanno  replied. 
Short  and  squat  was  he,  not  over-old;  his  face  was 
shaped  like  his  begging  bowl  and  red  as  an  indago- 

NOTE:  A  casual  reader  may  prefer  to  pass  rather  lightly  over 
the  first  two  chapters,  which  are  introductory.  The  first  lays  an 
ethical  and  psychological  foundation;  it  defines  that  concrete 
moral  perplexity  by  which  the  large,  vague  problem  of  the  book 
is  primarily  exemplified.  The  second  chapter  is  partly  a  retro 
spective  character  study,  partly  a  historical  excursus. 


Cold  comes  not  with  frosty  shiver, 
Heat  is  not  unduly  pressed. 
Month  of  every  boon  the  giver! 
Sons  of  Sakya,  rise  from  rest; 
'Tis  a  time  to  cross  the  river, 
Facing  toward  the  unbound  West. 

Hopefully  man  toils  in  tilling, 
Strews  in  hope  the  seedling  grain; 
Hopefully,  their  cargoes  filling, 
Merchants  voyage  across  the  main. 
Cheered  by  hope,  my  heart  is  willing; 
May  that  hope  of  mine  be  gain! 

paka  bug.  "We  shall  pass  for  alms  and  preaching 
through  the  villages  toward  Pataliputta,"  said 
Kondanno. 

"Thither  am  I  going  also,"  spoke  Revato;  "I 
have  determined  that  I  must  resign  my  office." 

"Your  office!"  exclaimed  Bharadvajo.  Crisp  was 
his  countenance  like  the  sear  leaves  strewn  round 
about  by  the  rainy  season,  as  well  it  might  be,  for 
eighty  vassas  had  fallen  upon  it;  but  his  form  was 
still  straight  like  a  bambu  clothes-pole.  "Resign 
your  office  which  you  obtained  through  the  memory 
of  that  blessed  arahat,  the  Elder  Mahindo!" 

"Supposing,  bhante, "  rejoined  Revato,  "that 
the  Thera  Mahindo  were  to-night  returned  to  us 
across  the  sea  from  Tambapanni  Island,  and  suppos 
ing  that,  reluctantly,  I  should  explain  to  him  my 
reasons,  and  should  ask  of  him,  'Sattha — Master — 
what  ought  I  to  do  in  this  matter?'  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  answer,  'It  is  meet  to  be  weary  of,  it  is 
meet  to  be  estranged  from,  it  is  meet  to  be  set  quite 
free  from  the  bondage  of  all  composed  things.'  " 

"Can  you  not  confide  equally  in  your  friends  at 
home?"  asked  Bharadvajo.  "I,  alas,  have  pro 
gressed  but  a  little  way  in  the  Paths;  though  I  am 
old,  I  remain  only  a  learner.  The  Venerable  Kon 
danno,  however,  is  wise.  You  know  that  he  can 
recite  the  whole  Discipline  and  more  than  half  of 
the  Higher  Doctrine.  Let  him  pass  judgment  on 
your  case." 

"Oho,  Upasaka — Layman — the  Venerable  Bhara 
dvajo  would  flatter  me!"  cried  Venerable  Kondanno; 
"but  he  knows  it  to  be  a  fact  that  in  me  dwell  the 
Six  Knowledges  and  the  Ten  Powers  and  the  Four 
Grounds  of  Confidence.  Do  not  hesitate  to  ask  me 
any  question  that  you  choose  and  I  will  gladly 
impart  to  you  the  best  of  my  experience." 

Both  of  the  Brethren  had  been  Revato's  lifelong 
intimate  counsellors  and  yet  on  this  occasion  he 

i] 


LAYMAN         REVATO 


hung  back  from  frank  speech  to  either.  The  craving 
for  a  good  confessor  and  director  is  stronger  than 
almost  any  other  human  want;  it  is  a  demand  the 
denial  of  which  has  wrecked  myriad  souls;  but 
where  the  heart  is  deep,  satisfaction  of  its  need 
becomes  difficult  or  impossible.  Did  not  the  dying 
Buddho  leave  his  disciples  to  explore  singly  the 
darkness  of  Eternity  when  he  said:  "Be  ye  lamps 
unto  yourselves;  be  a  refuge  to  yourselves.  Betake 
yourselves  to  no  external  refuge.  Hold  fast  to  the 
Truth  as  a  lamp.  Look  not  for  a  refuge  to  anyone 
beside  yourselves"? 

To  seek  advice,  moreover,  on  a  deep  and  delicate 
question,  of  the  pedant  Kondafino,  Revato's  mental 
self-respect  forbade.  The  Venerable  Bharadvajo, 
he  felt  to  be  a  saint  like  them  of  old,  like  those  who 
formed  that  little  circle  around  the  Blessed  Master 
during  five  and  forty  years  of  tireless  wandering. 
If  any  man  in  these  days  might  become  an  arahat, 
surely  Bharadvajo,  in  spite  of  his  disclaimer,  had 
attained  that  state;  his  presence  breathed  the  purple 
cloud  of  Nibbana.  Like  Gotamo,  he  pervaded  the 
world  with  kindness.  Appropriate  to  him  seemed 
the  words  of  Sirimitto  the  Elder: 

"Who  wrath  nor  hate  not  judgment  in  word  or  thought  hath 

known, 
He,  in  the  long  Hereafter,  hath  never  cause  to  moan. 

"Well  barred  is  passion's  portal,  but  friendship's  door  is  wide; 
Him,  in  the  long  Hereafter,  shall  never  woe  betide. 

"Among  the  lowly  Brethren,  clear-eyed,  with  vision  plain, 
Men  cannot  call  him  wretched — his  life  is  not  in  vain." 

Yet,  as  Revato  felt,  Bharadvajo's  clarity  of  per 
ception  extended  only  through  the  world  of  his  own 
transparent  heart.  With  the  denser  problems  of 
life  he  lacked  experience.  His  very  mildness  and 
innocence  set  his  limits  as  an  adviser.  Therefore  the 
visitor  said: 

"My  reasons  for  resigning,  bhadanta,  cannot  be 
explained.  It  is  better  for  me  not  to  try. " 

"I  know  how  little  the  opinion  of  another  would 
dissuade  you,"  said  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo, 
"and  perhaps,  after  all,  your  purpose  to  set  your 
life  free  is  the  fruit  of  a  good  kamma.  Let  me  speak 
now,  my  son,  what  has  been  upon  my  heart  from 
your  childhood  but  which  up  to  this  time  I  have 
hesitated  to  utter.  I  have  ever  been  waiting  to  see 
you  become  pabbajja — to  forsake  household  life  for 
the  homeless  condition.  You,  if  any  man,  are  fitted 
to  take  the  bowl  and  yellow  robes.  Few  samanas — 
recluses — ever  become  so  well  versed  in  the  Dhamma 
as  you  are  already.  I  trust  that  even  now  you  have 
entered  the  Paths  and  I  am  certain  that  if  you  train 
yourself  by  the  full  Discipline  you  will,  even  before 
you  leave  this  life,  attain  the  Supreme  Goal." 

"I  am  sorry  to  grieve  you,  bhante,  but  this  is  not 
for  me.  I  must  struggle  and  suffer  and  fail  on  lower 
ground." 


The  old  monk  held  silence  for  a  moment,  then 
recited  tremulously: 

"Susukhang  vata  nibbanang 
Sammasambuddhadesitung 
Asokang  virajang  khemang 
Yattha  dukkang  nirujjhati. 

"(Yea  wonder-sweet  Nibbana  lies, 
Declared  by  Him  so  Purely  Clear, 
Woeless  Retreat  where  passion  dies 
And  every  pang  will  disappear.)" 

"How  few  of  the  bhikkhus,  bhante,"  said  Revato, 
"ever  reach  the  Refuge  or  even  act  as  if  they  cared 
to." 

"Not  few,  but  many,  avuso,  many  attain  in  this 
life,  more  in  the  paraloka.  But  some,  alas,  have 
joined  the  Sangha  for  lesser  reasons:  to  escape  the 
tyranny  of  kings  or  to  be  safe  from  robbers  or  to  gain 
food  and  clothing.  I  was  a  mere  boy  when  I  became 
a  novice;  I  knew  not  the  aim,  but  I  thought:  'They 
are  wise  scholars,  these  samanas,  Sons  of  the  Sakiya, 
they  will  be  able  to  teach  me.'  By  them  I  have  been 
taught  and  now  I  both  know  and  understand  what 
is  the  reason  and  advantage  in  Renunciation.  Our 
Renunciation  is  to  the  end  that  present  sorrow  may 
perish  away  and  that  no  further  sorrow  may  arise; 
this  complete  passing  away  without  clinging  to  the 
world  is  our  highest  aim." 

"To  me  this  is  all  a  mirage,"  said  Revato. 

"How  strong  in  you,  Layman,  must  be  your 
clinging  to  the  world!"  sneered  Venerable  Kon 
dafino.  "Is  it  because  you  possess  a  few  more  of  its 
illusive  delights  than  some  other  men  that  you 
cannot  let  go  your  grasp?  Little  you  know  what 
renunciation  means!" 

"And  do  you  know  what  Renunciation  means?" 
retorted  Revato,  turning  toward  him  with  less 
reverence  than  befitted  an  upasaka,  a  mere  lay 
disciple,  in  addressing  an  ordained  religious. 

"Renunciation?  Oh  yes,  Layman,  I  know," 
answered  Venerable  Kondafino  complacently.  "Re 
nunciation  is  the  third  among  the  ten  Perfections. 
It  is  the  state  of  an  anagami,  one  who  has  entered 
the  third  of  the  Four  Paths  and  will  not  be  reborn 
in  this  world.  Renunciation  was  fulfilled  by  the 
pre-incarnate  Buddho  times  without  number,  as  in 
the  abnegation  by  which  he  abandoned  his  throne 
when  born  Prince  Somanasso,  Prince  Hatthipalo 
and  the  pandit  Ayogharo.  But  the  acme  was 
reached  when,  as  related  in  the  Lesser  Sutasoma 
Birth  Tale,  he  said,  'A  kingdom  dropped  into  my 
hands;  like  spittle  vile  I  let  it  fall,  nor  felt  for  it  the 
smallest  wish,  and  thus  Renunciation  gained.'  Let 
us  now  discuss  in  detail  the  elements  whereof  Renun 
ciation  consists  and  the  classes  into  which  it  falls. 
Firstly—" 

"I  will  take  them  for  granted,"  interrupted 
Revato,"  as  I  have  heard  them  all  from  you  before. 
You  are  able  to  tell  about  Renunciation  as  others 
told  you  who  themselves  never  knew  what  it  is  to 
renounce,  and  you  are  ready  to  talk  flat  self-contra 
dictions  rather  than  lose  the  credit  of  saying  every- 


[2] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


thing  that  you  can  think  of.  Now  listen,  if  you  will, 
while  I  declare  to  you  what  Renunciation  is  like,  as 
I  have  seen  it  many  times  loom  before  me: 

"When  a  man  yields  up  by  his  own  act  that  which 
he  deems  most  needful  to  his  life's  happiness,  be  it 
wealth  or  home  or  some  great  opportunity,  or  secur 
ity  from  violent  death,  starvation,  torture;  and  when 
he  thus  foregoes  because  he  cannot  enjoy  this  benefit 
except  by  some  past  fraud  or  untruth  or  other  wrong, 
unintentional  perhaps  on  his  part  and  slender  as  the 
finest  filament  of  a  creeper,  a  remote  link  in  a  chain 
of  causation,  yet  an  efficient  link  nevertheless — when, 
I  say,  a  man  thus  rejects  his  advantage,  he  knows 
what  it  means  to  renounce.  Was  it  not  of  such  mat 
ter  that  the  Blessed  One  thought  when  he  said: 

"  'Not  in  the  lofty  air  nor  ocean's  hollow 
Nor  dark  in  some  deep  cave's  perpetual  night, 
Nor  any  earthly  where  shall  cease  to  follow 
The  present  power  of  a  past  unright'? 

"Or  if,  after  long  struggle  toward  some  noble 
end,  for  one's  own  good  or  others'  sake,  he  can  now, 
if  he  would,  reach  forward  and  touch  it  with  his  hand, 
yet  a  shadow  of  guile,  seen  by  his  eye  alone,  falls 
between  him  and  the  goal  and  he  will  not  cross  that 
shadow — he  knows  what  it  means  to  renounce. 

"But  infinitely  beyond  even  this,  bhadanta,  is  the 
relinquishment  of  Nibbana  itself — of  the  peace 
attainable  in  this  life  and  of  that  ineffable  Peace 
which  remains  after  the  personal  elements  have 
fallen  apart.  It  is  not  an  ignoble  fancy,  which  some 
of  the  schismatics  of  our  religion  conceive,  that 
Buddho  has,  by  reason  of  his  unspeakable  compas 
sion,  refused  to  enter  the  Nibbana  which  he  attained, 
but  is  tossing  still  in  the  whirlpool  of  existence  in 
order  to  rescue  poor  wretches  from  its  waves  of 
ignorance  and  craving.  It  may  be  that  you  and  I, 
bhadanta,  when,  on  some  unknown  ocean,  many  an 
eternity  hence,  we  have  sounded  with  our  feet  the 
shallows  that  slope  to  the  Further  Shore  and  can 
behold,  as  it  were,  the  sightlessness  of  its  intertwining 
forests  and  hear  the  murmur  of  its  never-ending 
silence — that  you  or  I  then  may  be  impelled  to  turn 
about  and  fling  ourselves  once  more  into  the  deep. 
For  even  here  and  now,  as  we  are  engulfed  in  the 
agony  of  the  feeling  world,  comes  a  strong  impulse 
to  combat  this  misery  with  a  very  lawlessness  of 
endeavor,  ignoring  that  Way  which  leads  to  the 
Cessation  of  Sorrow.  Whoso,  in  pity  for  anguish, 
denies  himself  the  way  of  escape  from  anguish — he 
knows  what  it  means  to  renounce." 

"You  have  described,  Layman,  the  conduct  of  a 
fool,"  rejoined  Kondanno.  "He  who  would  relieve 
the  suffering  of  the  world  must  the  more  zealously 
train  himself.  He  must  observe  the  four  Excom- 
municatory  rules,  the  thirteen  Public  Disciplinary 
rules,  the  two  Restrictionary,  the  thirty  Forfeitory- 
Expiatory,  the  ninety-two  Expiatory,  the  four  Con- 
fessory,  the  Regulatory,  the  seven — 

" Yakkhamatta! — Demoniac!"  muttered  Revato 
under  his  breath,  but  Venerable  Kondanno  heard  him 
and  desisted  from  prolonged  hortation. 


"It  appears  to  me,"  remarked  Venerable  Bharad- 
vajo,  who  had  not  heard  Revato's  epithet,  "That 
when  a  man  breaks  a  rule  or  even  swerves  from  the 
Eight-fold  Path  because  of  compassion,  this  may  be 
but  another  and  better  manner  of  following  the 
Path." 

"In  the  twenty-seventh  section  of  the  fifth  chapter 
of  the  commentary  on  the  second  Parajika,  they  who 
from  compassion  released  deers  and  boars  from 
snares  and  fishes  from  a  net  were  held  not  guilty  of 
larceny."  This  from  Kondanno  who  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  both  argument  and  resentment  to  an  oppor 
tunity  for  display  of  learning. 

"But  why,  avuso, "  asked  Venerable  Bharadvajo, 
"why,  if  you  have  sounded  the  depths  of  renuncia 
tion  so  far  as  have  few  mendicants,  do  you  hold  back 
from  pabbajja,  from  going  forth  yourself?  Is  it 
because  the  difficulties  seem  too  great  to  you?  Be 
lieve  me,  you  over-estimate  them  and  you  ignore 
the  rewarding  peace  and  bliss  of  the  cloister." 

"Not  for  me  is  the  outward  cloister,  bhante.  If 
ever  I  find  such  a  retreat  it  must  be  a  cloister  within 
my  heart.  Not  kdyaviveka,  bodily  seclusion,  but 
cittaviveka,  spiritual  seclusion,  and  either  way,  with 
no  confident  hope  of  final  upadiviveka,  separation  from 
the  properties  of  being — that  everlasting  Peace." 

"The  outward  seclusion  is  almost  indispensable  to 
the  inward,  my  son." 

"Almost?  It  is  altogether  indispensable,"  broke 
in  Venerable  Kondanno.  "Have  you  forgotten  that 
it  was  my  discussion  of  this  question  with  Moggali- 
putto  Tisso,  even  the  Archbishop  Upagutto,  which 
led  to  its  embodiment  in  his  'Account  of  Opinions.' 
My  precise  contention  was,  that  though  a  layman 
may  become  a  saint,  he  cannot  remain  one." 

"You  know  better  than  I,  bhante,"  said  Bharad 
vajo  to  Kondanno.  "It  is  true  that  the  Blessed 
One  advised  the  beneficent  rich  merchant  Anatha- 
pindiko,  of  Savatthi,  to  remain  at  his  affairs  and 
guard  the  interests  of  those  dependent  upon  him, 
since  it  is  not  wealth,  but  cleaving  of  the  heart  there 
to,  which  poisons.  But  how  many  are  there  who  can 
possess  without  clinging?  Remember,  that  the 
layman  Sono  Kotikanno  was  advised  by  the  Vener 
able,  the  Great  Kaccano  to  practice  the  discipline  at 
home.  Twice,  after  futile  attempts,  he  pleaded: 
'It  is  not  easy  for  a  man  who  dwells  at  home  to  live 
the  higher  life  in  entire  fulfillment,  in  complete 
purity,  in  all  its  bright  perfection.'  When  finally  he 
was  permitted  to  shave  his  head  and  don  the  yellow 
robe  he  quickly  attained  that  wisdom  and  purity 
which  the  Lord  of  the  Dhamma  so  highly  praised  in 
him." 

"  Do  not  imagine,  bhante, "  returned  Revato,  "  that 
because  I  refrain  from  taking  the  bowl  and  yellow 
robe  I  feel  less  accountable  for  discipline.  Happy 
are  they  whose  consciences  are  appeased  by  the  eight 
precepts  for  the  householder;  such  complacency  may 
or  may  not  be  a  fruit  of  good  Kamma,  but  at  any 
rate  it  is  denied  to  me.  The  burden  imposed  upon  me 
is  to  suffer  all  of  the  monastery's  privations  with 


[3] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


none  of  its  requitals,  to  dwell  free  from  guile  though 
exposed  to  manifold  temptation,  to  remain  clean 
like  the  lotus  in  the  foulest  mire.  Instead  of  the 
forest  calm,  for  which  I  yearn  to  replace  the  void  of 
expelled  ambitions,  I  must  be  jostled  by  offensive 
folk  on  the  burning  highway.  In  abandonment  of 
my  livelihood  I  must  face  old  age  with  no  comfortable 
dependence  upon  the  bowl  that  never  goes  empty. 
All  this  I  must  endure  against  thwarting  and  con 
tempt  on  every  side.  The  rabble  will  shout  after  me: 
'Why  forsooth  should  the  layman  Revato  profess  to 
be  walking  in  the  Paths  when  he  dare  not  shave  his 
head  and  go  among  the  monks?  Verily  the  layman 
Revato  is  unwilling  to  submit  himself  to  the  disci 
pline  of  the  Dhamma!  A  hypocrite  is  the  layman 
Revato'." 

"But  it  would  be  the  height  of  folly, "said  Bharad 
vajo,  "for  you  in  your  self-training  to  forfeit  your 
livelihood.  In  so  doing,  you  would  be  departing 
from  the  Middle  Way  taught  by  the  Tathagato,  who, 
when  he  prescribed  freedom  from  care  for  the  body, 
provided  means  for  relief  from  such  care.  Utter 
destitution  would  defeat  its  own  purpose." 

"The  purpose  in  my  case  is  not  self-training," 
said  Revato,  "it  is  honesty.  I  must  defray  my  obli 
gations.  You  could  not  see  why  I  should  not  join 
the  Sangha?  Here  is  a  definite  ground  on  which  I 
am  by  its  rules  ineligible — I  am  a  debtor." 

"You  have  shown  no  evidence  of  it,"  remarked 
Venerable  Bharadvajo.  "Of  whom  did  you  borrow?' 

"It  is  a  debt  not  by  borrowing  but  by  fraud." 

"Datthacora!  rascally  thief!"  exclaimed  Kon- 
dafino  clutching  tightly  at  his  bowl.  "Abbhutang 
vata  bho!  dubbhagang  vata  bho!  dusilang  vata  bho! 
— Mysterious, alas,  oh!  unfortunate,  alas,  oh!  immor 
al,  alas,  oh!" 

Bharadvajo  checked  his  brother  monk  with  the 
words:  "The  Blessed  One  admonished  us  that  he 
who  warns  another  must  not  only  be  himself  pure 
and  of  great  wisdom  but  must  possess  a  kindly 
heart."  Then  to  Revato:  "You  have  defrauded 
no  one,  avuso,  I  am  confident.  I  would  not  stir 
your  pride  by  praise,  but  all  Rajagaha  calls  you  the 
most  scrupulous  revenue  officer  in  the  continent  of 
Jambudipa." 

"I  see,"  answered  Revato  with  a  sigh  of  resigna 
tion,  "that  the  more  we  talk  the  farther  apart  we 
get,  and  now  that  I  have  said  so  much  I  might  as 
well  tell  the  whole  story.  If  I  let  you  hear  it,  I  may 
save  you  from  the  guilt  of  manesika,  thought  guess 
ing,  which  one  of  the  amusements  prohibited  to  you 
Bhikkhus. 

"Ingha  tvang!  Come  you  then  ["continued  Revato, 
"Tatrayang  anupubbikatha,  here's  the  tale  from  the 
beginning. — You  admit  that  I  am  fairly  honest  in 
my  dealings,  don't  you?  That  I  levy  upon  each 
caravan  that  passes  through  town  a  sum  fairly  pro 
portioned  to  the  goods  in  the  carts,  no  more  and  no 
less,  of  which  amount  I  deliver  to  the  royal  treasurer 
all  except  my  lawful  perquisites? — Saccang  nu  kho 
etang  no — Is  this  true  or  not?" 


"Saccang,  true,  Revato." 

"And  you  are  aware  that  other  collectors,  for  per 
sonal  reasons,  exact  unjust  amounts,  of  some  mer 
chants  more,  of  others  less,  but  on  the  whole  vastly 
more;  out  of  which  they  enrich  themselves  although 
they  are  enabled  to  return  to  the  exchequer  larger 
sums  than  I  do.  For  not  all  merchants,  neither  all 
customs  men  are  as  honest  as  Anathapindiko  of 
Savatthl." 

"I  dislike  to  think  so,"  said  Venerable  Bharad 
vajo,"  still,  'tis  so  alleged  by  many  who  understand 
the  matter  as  I  do  not." 

"And  you  concede  that  if  I  held  not  the  office,  one 
of  those  cheating  collectors  would  fill  it?" 

"That  seems  reasonable." 

"So  then,  were  it  not  for  me  the  King's  receipts 
would  be  larger?" 

"Ama,  yes." 

"And  also  certain  corrupt  merchants,  such  as 
Sanjayo  the  Licchavi,  Tapusso  of  Baranasi,  dealer  in 
Kasi  land  muslins,  and  Bhalliko  Daruciriyo,  who 
spends  a  year  traveling  across  the  Jambu  Grove  from 
Roruka  by  the  Hinder,  the  Western,  ocean  where 
ships  of  the  Yonakas  arrive  from  the  edge  of  the 
world — these  traders,  bhante,  and  many  like  them 
who  would  obtain  unrighteous  forbearance  of  the 
customs — does  not  my  strictness  cost  them  dear?" 

"Evang,  even  so,  Revato,  and  great  merit  it  is  to 
you  that  they  cannot  save  it." 

"Well  then,  bhante,  we  are  agreed  that  my  tenure 
of  office  is  a  continual  loss  to  the  King  on  one  hand 
and  to  the  corrupt  merchants  on  the  other." 

"Ko  te  doso — what  is  thy  fault?"  said  Venerable 
Bharadvajo.  "No  one  loses  anything  to  which  he  is 
entitled." 

"True  in  a  sense,  bhante,  but  in  another  aspect 
doubtful.  Are  not  all  beings,  whether  kings  or 
traders,  men  or  animals,  angels  or  demons,  entitled 
to  every  advantage  that  would  accrue  to  them  from 
my  doing  right?  Is  there  not  due  to  them  immunity 
from  any  damage  occasioned  by  my  doing  wrong?" 

"Are  you  not  doing  right,  avuso,  in  administering 
your  office  justly?" 

"While  I  hold  it  I  must  administer  it  justly,  for  the 
justice  of  the  immediate  act  is  paramount  and  other 
wise,  too,  the  innocent  would  suffer.  Is  it  then  a 
wrong  in  me  that  the  undeserving  are  injured?  That 
depends  upon  whether  my  conduct  be  otherwise  clear 
in  holding  the  office;  if  it  were  so,  there  need  be  no 
misgiving.  But  if  I  be  not  clear,  I  am  defrauding  on 
one  side  or  the  other  so  long  as  I  remain  at  my  post. 
The  fact  is,  bhante,  that  I  transgressed  in  that  ever 
I  accepted  it." 

"Transgressed  in  accepting  it,  moghapurisa — fool 
ish  person!"  exclaimed  Bharadvajo  with  an  epi 
thet  of  unusual  severity  for  him,  though  sanctioned 
by  the  example  of  his  gentle  Master.  "Was  it  not 
freely  granted  you  by  the  Angel-Beloved,  the  Gra 
cious  Maharaja  Asoko  in  fulfillment  of  the  promise 
made  to  his  brother  the  Thera  Mahindo?" 


[4] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"The  transgression,"  explained  Revato,  "was  not 
in  outward  actions,  but  within  my  own  heart.  When 
I  recalled  His  Majesty's  memory  to  that  promise  I 
did  so  as  a  work  of  covetous  desire." 

"Perhaps  desire  is  not  always  a  bad  kamma," 
replied  Bharadvajo  after  a  pause,  seeking  for  a  re 
joinder  that  would  have  been  both  apt  and  ortho 
dox,  but  finding  none. 

"How,  how  indeed!"  cried  Kondanno.  "Desire 
not  always  a  bad  kamma?  From  desire,  attachment 
springs,  from  attachment  existence,  from  existence 
birth,  from  birth  old  age,  death  and  misery,  and  thus 
around  the  wheel  till  desire  once  more  arises." 

"Kondanno  is  right,"  admitted  Bharadvajo  in 
meek  retraction.  "Still,  I  do  not  think  Revato  did 
any  wrong  in  soliciting  the  collectorship." 

"Let  us  simplify  the  case,"  persisted  Revato. 
"Whether  desire  be  always  pernicious  is  irrelevant, 
whether  my  act  was  in  its  nature  evil,  is  irrelevant. 
The  fact  remains  that  when  I  went  to  the  king  to 
proffer  my  request  I  was  dominated  by  a  desire 
which  I  then  felt  to  be  wrong.  As  a  result  of  a  wilful 
violation  of  my  sense  of  duty,  I  obtained  my  post 
whereby  the  king  and  the  unjust  traders  are  losing 
sums  of  money  which  have  already  amounted  to 
more  than  I  possess  or  can  ever  acquire.  For,  bhante, 
though  the  caravans  that  pass  the  way  of  the  road 
through  Rajagaha  are  fewer  than  of  ancient  times, 
yet  they  bring  wealth  when  they  come." 

"According  to  your  logic,  Layman,"  remarked 
Kondanno,  "there  could  be  nothing  in  the  world  un 
tainted  with  consequential  sin — not  even  the  life  of 
an  arahat,  which  sufficiently  proves  its  absurdity." 

"Your  sin  is  a  bygone  matter,"  said  Venerable 
Bharadvajo,  "and  its  bad  energy  will  be  spent  in 
some  future  birth.  Your  duty  at  present  is  to  make 
the  best  of  your  existing  circumstances,  however 
they  were  brought  about." 

"In  general,"  said  Revato,  answering  Venerable 
Bharadvajo,  "your  rule  is  the  only  reasonable  one 
to  follow,  yet  I  dare  not  condone  with  it  a  plain, 
avoidable,  continuous  and  remediable  injury  to  any 
person." 

"As  concerns  the  merchants,"  argued  Kondanno, 
"you  need  have  no  scruples;  you  have  merely 
thwarted  their  designs  to  defraud  the  King." 

"Have  I  not  already  explained,  bhante,"  persisted 
Revato,  "that  I  must  not  do  them  a  wrong  even  to 
defeat  their  crimes?  If  the  perfect  only  had  rights, 
who  but  arahats  would  possess  any?  Is  it  not  steal 
ing  to  carry  off  the  booty  from  a  thief?  A  learned 
muni  such  as  you  cannot  be  unfamiliar  with  the  case 
of  the  amba  fruit  in  the  canon  law — 

"Quite  so,"  interrupted  the  Venerable  Kondanno. 
"It  is  found  in  the  second  Parajika  book  of  the  Sutta 
Vibhanga,  which  treats  of  'Taking  the  Ungiven 
Thing.'  Robbers  had  stripped  a  mango  tree  and 
being  pursued  by  the  owners,  dropped  the  fruit. 
Some  monks  with  thievish  intent,  picked  it  up,  and 
when  the  case  was  brought  before  Buddho  were 
adjudged  Parajika  —  excommunicated.  Likewise 


were  convicted  the  bhikkhus  who  stole  meat  from 
cattle  thieves." 

This  incident  led  straightway  to  a  discussion  of 
the  question  whether  the  thievish  monks'  crime  lay 
against  the  robbers  or  against  the  true  owners  of  the 
fruit  and  meat,  but  no  solution  of  this  subtle  doubt 
was  forthcoming  and  Revato  adhered  to  the  opinion 
that  two  wrongs  could  not  make  a  right. 

"And  even  if  it  were  true,  bhavanta,"  he  argued, 
"that  I  owe  no  duty  to  the  dishonest  merchants, 
I  surely  owe  one  to  the  King." 

"Against  him,"  declared  Venerable  Bharadvajo, 
"  there  is  no  injury,  since  one  so  wise  in  the  Dhamma 
and  so  practiced  in  virtue  as  he  would  not  willingly 
profit  by  anything  unlawfully  acquired.  He  seeks 
not  those  products  of  fraud  and  oppression  which 
might  be  turned  in  by  a  cheating  collector  in  your 
place.  Be  at  rest  in  the  thought  that  if  he  knew,  he 
would  approve  your  conduct." 

"He  is  old,"  answered  Revato,  "and  his  treasure 
will  soon  pass  to  his  successors.  They  are  not  his 
equals  in  devotion  to  the  Dhamma  and  they  might 
not  so  readily  reject  the  fruits  of  dishonesty.  In 
withholding  from  him,  I  am  withholding  from  them. 
Moreover,  I  am  already  robbing  the  innocent  objects 
of  his  charity  throughout  the  world." 

"It  is  a  thankless  task  to  dispute  with  you, 
Revato,"  exclaimed  Bharadvajo  almost  petulantly. 
"The  longer  you  talk  the  more  unreasonable  you 
become.  But  how  would  your  resignation  of  the 
office  reduce  you  to  poverty  as  you  have  been  claim 
ing?  You  still  have  your  estate  here  at  Giribbaja." 

"That  would  not  suffice  to  cover  the  losses  I  have 
caused.  Of  old  the  Teacher  told  Vaddho  that  one 
must  look  upon  sin  as  sin  and  do  frank  contrition. 
How  can  such  repentance  be  for  me  without  resti 
tution?" 

"What's  this  you  say?  You  wouldn't  throw  your 
property  away,  would  you?" 

"Not  only  that,  but  all  I  could  earn  the  rest  of 
my  life." 

"To  whom,"  asked  Kondanno,  in  wide-eyed 
wonder,  "do  you  propose  first  to  tender  your 
possessions — to  His  Majesty  or  to  the  merchants? 
I  doubt  if  one  of  them  is  base  enough  to  accept  the 
offer." 

"I  shall  probably  retain  it  all  now — indefinitely. 
I  lack  the  courage  of  my  convictions.  The  atmos 
phere  of  learned  moralists  like  yourself  benumbs 
me.  What  I  propose  is  not  a  present  active  sur 
render  of  my  life's  goods  but  a  potential  one.  I  can 
no  longer  count  my  little  possessions  as  my  own,  but 
as  a  trust  to  be  relinquished  one  day,  probably  in 
old  age  when  I  am  unable  to  work.  Meanwhile  I 
must  shape  my  life  in  accordance,  spending  as  little 
of  my  income  on  myself  as  possible  and  making 
every  endeavor  to  increase  the  principal  which 
ultimately  must  be  given  up.  To  this  end  I  must 
toil  like  a  Sudda,  denying  myself  comfort  and  rest, 
fearful  to  repose  in  the  cool  of  the  trees  at  noonday 
and  forbidden  the  meditation  that  is  needful  to 


[5] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


spiritual  attainment.  Before  the  world  I  shall 
occupy  a  false  position,  for  while  I  excite  the  sharp 
envy  that  riches  draw  after  them  I  shall  be  lacking 
even  the  eight  chattels  of  a  mendicant  to  call  my 
own.  Because  I  cannot  give  away  the  goods  of 
another,  I  shall  be  called  miserly  and  uncharitable; 
I  must  turn  from  my  door  the  holy  friar  and  the 
starving  dog." 

"The  Discipline,"  said  Kondarmo,  when  Revato 
had  finished,  "lays  down  that  he  who  suggesteth 
difficulties  of  conscience  to  another  in  order  to  make 
him  trouble  committeth  a  Pacittiya  offence.  And 
in  the  book  of  the  Truth-Steps  it  is  declared  that 
they  who  see  sin  where  is  no  sin  enter  the  path  of 
destruction." 

"The  same  is  said,  "  retorted  Revato,  "of  those 
who  see  no  sin  where  sin  is.  'By  seeing  according  to 
the  reality,'  as  elsewhere  the  Elder  Adhimutto 
observed,  'one  never  goeth  to  destruction.'  " 

"How  long,"  inquired  Venerable  Bharadvajo, 
"has  this  trouble  been  upon  you?" 

"Since  the  day,  seven  years  ago,  that  I  took  office, 
it  has  been  rising  around  me  as  if  I  were  hemmed  in 
by  a  river  freshet.  At  last  the  waters  touch  my 
feet  and  soon  thy  will  be  over  my  head." 

Bharadvajo  commenced  to  intone: 

"  'Where  the  spreading  floods  are  surging,' 
Saith  of  old  the  Blessed  One, 
'All  the  race  of  men  submerging, 
By  decay  and  death  undone, 
I  will  name  an  isle  of  saving. 
Those  who  find  it  find  the  best. 
Nothing  holding,  nothing  craving, 
They  have  reached  the  Perfect  Rest. 
This  the  island  of  Nibbana'  "— 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  Nibbana,  bhante," 
cried  Revato,  as  though  the  word  in  his  ears  had  been 
a  red-hot  iron.  "You  are  speaking  a  different  lan 
guage  from  any  that  I  can  understand.  When  a 
man  is  maddened  with  problems  of  present  conduct 
he  can  neither  comprehend  nor  endure  the  idea  of 
spiritual  raptures.  I  can  contemplate  Nibbana  when 
in  the  mood  for  it,  but  that  is  growing  infrequent. 
These  moral  doubts  harass  me  day  and  night,  year 
in  and  year  out — not  only  the  one  I  have  told  you 
about,  but  thousands  of  others,  many  of  them  vastly 
more  complex,  more  distressing  and — as  you  would 
say — more  foolish.  They  insinuate  themselves  every 
where  like  serpents — like  the  Virupakkhas,  the  Era- 
pathas,  the  Chabyaputtas,  the  Kanhagotamakas. 
Buddha  told* us  to  love  these  reptiles.  Am  I  thus  to 
love  my  doubts?"  Revato  ended  mahdhasitung 
hasanto — laughing  a  great  laugh. 

"Just  as  when  a  hen,"  the  old  monk  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "with  eight  or  ten  or  twelve  eggs,  has  care 
fully  sat  upon  them  and  around  them  and  brooded 
over  them,  yet  she  becomes  anxious  and  a  longing 
arises  in  her  heart,  'Oh  that  my  little  chickens  would 
break  open  their  shells  with  their  beaks  or  with  their 
claws  and  safely  come  forth  into  the  light!'  yet  all 
the  while  those  little  chicks  are  destined  to  break 


the  shells  and  come  forth — even  so,  the  brother  who 
is  fast  enclosed  in  darkness  by  a  hard  wall  around 
him,  yet  who  is  persistent  and  determined,  will 
surely  come  forth  into  the  light,  surely  reach  up  to 
the  higher  wisdom,  surely  attain  the  Extreme 
Security." 

Revato  smiled  his  incredulity.  "Take  comfort  at 
least,"  encouraged  Bharadvajo,  "that  if  you  are 
subjected  to  unusual  troubles,  you  are  endowed  with 
extraordinary  power  to  submit  and  renounce." 

"Renounce?"  exclaimed  Revato,  "I  can't  re 
nounce.  When  I  perform  such  feats  of  self-abnega 
tion  as  few  of  you  monks  ever  dream  of,  I  am  still 
only  a  hypocrite — hollow  as  a  reed.  In  all  I  do  I 
am  a  mere  actor  of  a  drama,  watched  by  myself. 
I  no  more  taste  of  my  religion  than  the  spoon  tastes 
the  soup.  Besides,  I  never  accomplish  the  conclu 
sive  act  of  renunciation,  there  is  always  some  reserve. 
Especially  there  is  no  true  sacrifice  of  my  heart.  As 
much  as  I  agonize  to  perform  it,  I  am  like  a  felon 
whose  hands  and  feet  the  king  has  cut  off  for  his 
crimes,  who  is  clutching  at  roots  and  grass  to  drag 
himself  up  the  bank  of  a  rising  river,  grasping  with  his 
stumps  of  arms  which  have  no  means  to  take  hold. 

"Are  you  such  a  criminal?"  exclaimed  Kondanno 
in  virtuous  horror. 

"My  heart  is  a  valakantara — a  jungle  of  serpents 
and  wild  beasts."  answered  Revato.  "In  truth  that 
is  one  reason  why  I  cannot  join  the  Order — I  would 
never  dare  to  make  confession — yet  I  could  not  do 
so  intelligibly  if  I  would — and  were  I  to  try,  the 
Brethren  would  never  hear  me  out  but  would  deal 
with  me  in  pity  as  a  madman." 

Kondanno,  now  relenting,  volunteered  to  prescribe 
for  Revato  effective  spiritual  remedies.  He  advised 
the  forty  subjects  of  meditation,  to  wit,  the  Ten 
Kasina  trances  of  concentration,  the  ten  ponderings 
on  Physical  Corruptions,  the  ten  Reflections,  the 
four  Sublime  States,  the  four  Formless  States,  the 
Perception  and  the  Analysis.  He  advocated  espe 
cially  the  ten  salutary  cemetery  reveries  on  corpses 
in  as  many  successive  stages  of  decay.  He  further 
recommended  the  violent  breathing  exercise  which 
rids  the  mind  of  evils  as  a  great  storm  allays  the 
summer  dust. 

The  Venerable  Bharadvajo  more  simply  sug 
gested:  "Tata — my  dear  child — postpone  your  jour 
ney  to  Pataliputta  until  the  next  moon." 

"I  cannot,  bhante,  for  beside  the  resignation  of 
my  work,  there  are  sundry  accounts  to  adjust,  for 
which  I  must  visit  the  Capital  at  this  time. 

"Then  promise  me  to  defer  your  resignation  till  a 
future  occasion." 

"Ask  me  not  to  promise  anything.  No  man  who 
perfectly  respects  his  word  can  bind  up  his  future 
conduct  without  finding  himself  somehow  entrapped. 
Insincere  as  I  am,  half  my  life's  troubles  have  come 
from  promises  and  vows — uttered  often  in  words 
that  spring  to  the  lips  unpremeditated." 

"Then  before  your  act  is  final,"  pleaded  Bharad 
vajo,  "submit  your  case  to  Migalandiko,  the  King's 


[6] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


Dhamma-mahamatto — the  High  Minister  of  Relig 
ion.  You  know  it  is  his  business  to  hear  appeals 
from  all  branches  of  the  public  service  grounded  in 
moral  questions,  and  to  correct  evils." 

"No  man  living  is  able  to  alter  the  facts  of  the 
case,"  answered  Revato,  "but  at  least  I  might  make 
the  experiment  and  see  whether  the  High  Minister 
of  Religion  can  perform  the  impossible.  Now,  Dabbo 
Kumaputto,  the  Dhammayutta — Assistant  in  the 
Departmentof  Religion — at  Pataliputta,is  my  friend. 
I  might  first  call  on  him." 

At  this  moment  came  sportively  up  to  them  a  pack 
of  yellow  robed  boys,  the  samaneras,  novices,  who 
waited  upon  the  ordained  members  of  the  Order  and 
received  instruction. 

"You  would  better  not  say  anything  to  them," 
whispered  Kondanno  to  Revato.  "Your  influence 
might  not  be  good  for  them.  They  must  not  be 
exposed  to  the  temptations  of  anyone  who  has  con 
fessed  to  fraud  in  the  King's  business." 

Revato  turned  from  him  with  scorn  and  after  a 
greeting  of  reverence  to  Venerable  Bharadvajo,  pre 
pared  to  descend  the  mountain. 

The  neophants  had  come  to  Kondafino  to  make 
informal  confession,  to  recite  those  passages  from 


sacred  canon  which  they  had  been  studying  through 
the  afternoon,  and  to  attend  upon  his  words  of  wis 
dom.  As  they  grouped  cross-legged  on  the  ground 
around  their  teacher,  Revato  heard  him  launch  into  a 
disquisition  on  "dependent  origination"  which 
boded  ill  for  weary  young  brains. 

The  Venerable  Bharadvajo  meanwhile  had  as 
sumed  a  posture  of  revery  and,  as  was  his  wont, 
would  pass  the  first  watch  of  the  night  in  pondering 
on  some  chosen  theme. 

"As  the  lightning  seeks  a  cleft  of  Vebhara  or  Pan- 
dava,  thus  having  come  to  a  mountain  cavern,  the 
son  of  the  Freed  One  is  afire" — jhayati — he  burns,  he 
meditates — the  word  for  both  is  the  same.  But  the 
fervours  of  Bharadvajo's  nature  were  ever  of  the  sort 
which  led  to  tranquility.  The  workings  of  his  mind 
were  no  churning  of  trouble.  His  life  arranged  itself 
in  no  complexities. 

"It  is  easy  for  the  good  to  do  good." 

Unwilling  to  disturb  further  the  devotions  of  his 
aged  counsellor,  Revato  passed  around  him  with 
right  side  nearest,  and  left  him  to  visions  of  rap 
turous  joylessness  on  the  ground  hallowed  by  so 
many  vigils  of  the  attained  Master. 


CHAPTER  II 
RAJAGAHA 


GIRIBBAJA,    BERGENBURG 


Revato  turned  away  from  the  leaf  huts  which  his 
friends,  the  friars,  had  built  high  up  on  the  side  of 
the  Vulture's  Peak  mountain.  Close  at  hand,  at  the 
head  of  a  rocky  gulley,  was  the  favorite  cavern  retreat 
of  Buddho,  and  in  front  of  it  the  stony  cells  that 
Anando  and  other  of  his  disciples  had  so  often  occu 
pied.  From  yonder  cliff  the  treacherous  Devadatto 
had  flung  a  rock  and  wounded  his  Master's  foot. 
High  above  towered  the  fair  green  pinnacle  of  the 
mountain. 

A  bend  of  the  path  threw  open  a  far  vista  of  coun 
try  sloping  northward  toward  Ganga  River.  The 
far,  flat  horizon  was  studded  with  a  few  purple  cloud 
shapes  emblematic  of  the  great  mountains  of  Hima- 
vanta  which  abode  there  and  which  were  visible  from 
hills  beyond  the  river,  though  never  from  Rajagaha 
for  all  the  straining  of  expectant  eyes.  Those 
mountains  were  the  enchanted  land  of  Aryan  legend. 
Certain  pinnacles  were  popularly  indentified  with 
Meru,  Kelasa,  Cittakuta  and  others,  whose  wonders 
had  been  handed  down  from  the  old  religion. 
Mount  Meru,  or  Sineru,  with  its  reputed  84,000 
yojanas — 588,000  miles — of  altitude,  was  the  very 
centre  of  the  world,  the  heaven  of  Sakko,  of  Indo, 
which  the  orthodox  Brahmin  might  have  sought 
in  a  life-destroying  quest,  like  the  desert  pilgrimage 
of  Pandu's  sons  with  fair  Dropadi  and  the  dog, 


while  the  Buddhist  read  therein  lessons  of  sparkling 
angels,  now  sporting  with  goddess  girls  in  sensuous 
gardens  of  Nandana,  but  anon  to  be  hurled  down 
frigid  precipices  to  the  country  of  the  titanic  Asuras 
in  expiation  of  former  lives  and  to  be  fed  on  fire  by 
lictors  of  Yamo's  Niraya  for  so  long  a  time  that  all 
Himavanta  might  therein  be  worn  away  by  the  occa 
sional  whisking  of  a  little  silken  kerchief. 

Revato,  it  is  true,  had  no  fixed  faith  in  Sakko's 
heaven  or  Nandana  garden.  He  took  little  inter 
est  in  the  popular  superstitions  which  clung  to  the 
rational  doctrines  of  the  Dhamma  as  drops  from  the 
muddy  waters  of  deva  worship  out  of  which  it  had 
emerged,  thus  stultifying  its  own  favorite  figure  of 
the  lotus  which  remains  clean  amid  foulness. 

Yet  if  the  worlds  of  pleasure  had  never  touched 
him  with  a  sense  of  reality,  those  of  pain  had  held 
their  power  over  him  since  the  nights  of  his  shudder 
ing  infancy.  Optimistic  denials  he  impugned  on 
the  ground  that  they  might  as  well  be  raised  against 
the  existence  of  all  evil,  wherein  they  would  be  re 
futed  by  evident  facts.  "The  game  is  serious  accord 
ing  to  the  stake,"  he  reasoned,  "though  it  be  but  a 
game  of  chance,  and  where  prodigious  kappas  of 
time  are  set  against  a  few  years,  what  signify  the 
torments  of  life  compared  with  the  hazards  of  that 
desert  which  no  camel  has  crossed?"  The  cogency 
of  these  dreadful  appeals  lay  most  of  all  in  his  con- 

7] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


science — an  ad  hominum  sort  of  argument  by 
which  he  disproved  his  own  skepticism  and  which 
served  more  than  any  other  force  to  strengthen 
him  against  laxity  or  compromise  in  life.  Where 
to-morrow's  death  curbs  the  eating  and  drinking  of 
to-day,  there  must  be  faith  though  it  cannot  find 
itself.  A  life  thus  buttressed  might  evince  worldly 
fortitude  if  not  courage,  and  justice  if  not  gen 
erosity. 

The  northern  sky  faded.  Revato  gazed  upon  it  no 
more,  but  descended  the  mountain  side  and  turned 
up  a  rough  defile  leading  southwestward,  between 
two  ranges  of  hills,  toward  the  city.  All  around 
were  sweet-smelling  lodda  and  sparkling-leaved 
assattha  trees  and  the  kanaka,  the  perennially 
blooming  tree  of  gold.  At  the  base  of  the  rocks,  the 
bright  rose-apples  of  the  jambu  blinked  in  their 
leaves.  Revato  walked  warily  for  fear. of  snakes  in 
the  shadows,  yet  rapidly  to  lessen  the  time  of 
exposure  to  that  tiger  which  long  had  terrorized  the 
region  and  had  devoured  six  persons,  among  them 
the  old  nun  Sumedha.  Before  quite  dark,  he 
crossed  the  southern  shoulder  of  Mount  Isigili  and 
entered  a  gate  of  the  outer  wall,  which  followed  the 
apex  line  of  the  ridges  encircling  the  populous  valley. 
From  this  elevation  he  could  look  over  the  inner 
city  at  his  left  and  beyond  it  to  the  ruined  palace  of 
Jarasandho  at  the  base  of  Mount  Pandava.  North 
ward,  between  the  walls,  he  could  see  where,  in  the 
sangharama  of  Jivako's  Mango  Grove,  the  brethren 
were  kindling  their  oil  lamps.  Some  of  these  monks 
had  made  the  town  monasteries  their  retreat  all 
through  the  wet  vassa  months;  others  deemed  it  a 
better  following  of  Buddho's  commandment  to 
retire  for  the  Lenten  season  to  outlying  caves  or  leaf 
huts.  Many  of  these  were  now  returned  to  the 
communal  viharas  to  pass  a  few  days  before  starting 
on  their  alms  and  preaching  tours,  or  to  remain  longer 
if  they  did  not  intend  to  walk  abroad.  Still  without 
entering  the  inner  wall,  Revato  skirted  the  base  of 
Mounts  Isigili  and  Vipula,  passing  near  the  dense, 
cool  mango  grove.  Across  the  way  from  it  he 
reached  the  Hatthinipura  gate  of  the  central  city 
which  looked  northward  through  the  pass  between 
converging  Vipula  and  Vebhara  where  opened  the 
port  of  the  outer  wall.  Through  this  finally  he  came 
out  from  the  valley  enclosure.  Beside  him  the 
rivulet  SarassatI,  which  traversed  the  town,  flowed 
through  the  pass  to  be  reborn  in  larger  streams  and 
in  mighty  Ganga;  to  merge  at  last  in  the  Nibbana  of 
ocean.  Haze  of  hot  springs  on  its  banks  intensified 
the  evening  crepuscle.  Its  surface  still  obscurely 
reflected  the  western  sky.  Across  the  stream  flew 
a  great  marsh  bird  and  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  purple- 
toned  thicket  of  Veluvana,  that  Bambu  Grove  where 
Buddho  so  often  dwelt.  There  came  to  Revato's 
mind  an  old  hymn  of  the  Faith: 


"Yada  balaka  sucipandaracchada 
Kalassa  meghassa  bhayena  tajjita — 


"When  bright  as  the  light,  from  a  dark  cloud  in  fright, 
There  comes  a  pale  crane,  wide-winged  on  her  flight, 

And  seeking  a  refuge,  she  reaches  a  home, 
Ajakara's  river  is  then  my  delight. 
"When  white  on  the  sight,  from  a  dark  cloud  in  fright, 
There  comes  a  pale  crane,  wide-spread  on  her  flight, 

And  questing  a  shelter,  she  finds  an  abode, 
Ajakara's  river  is  then  my  delight. " 

To-night  was  no  storm  in  the  sky  nor  noise  in  the 
wave,  but  a  sensuous  tenderness  of  perfumed  air 
which  did  all  that  Nature  could  do  to  imbue  the  heart 
with  Nibbana.  There  is,  however,  an  intensity  of 
moral  struggle  to  which  the  philosophy  of  peace  is 
an  insult,  and  such  was  Revato's.  A  slight  calming 
of  nerve  was  performed  for  him  by  these  gentle 
influences,  but  in  the  suggested  spiritual  consolation 
he  could  find  no  part. 

The  highway,  as  it  emerged  from  the  mountain-girt 
valley,  skirted  the  Veluvana — Bambu  Grove — con 
taining  the  Kalandaka-nivapa — Squirrels'  Feeding 
Ground — and  many  viharas  of  the  faithful.  About 
its  solemn  edifices  grave,  pale-robed  figures  could  be 
discerned  in  the  twilight.  The  stillness  of  early  night 
was  broken  by  a  flaw  of  wind  which  set  the  bambu 
stems  rattling  together,  "Tatatatayati,"  like  the 
old  bones  with  which,  when  a  boy,  Revato  had  played 
in  the  neighboring  cemetery. 

Revato  now  turned  abruptly  southwestward 
behind  the  toe  of  Mount  Vebhara,  upon  whose 
shady  side  were  continued  bambu  thickets,  containing 
close  at  hand  the  Pipphala  cave  where  Buddho  so 
often  had  meditated  and,  far  along  the  mountain, 
the  great  Sattapanni  cavern  at  whose  door  had 
assembled  the  First  Council  soon  after  Buddho's 
death,  to  repeat  the  precious  words  bequeathed  from 
his  lips  and  pass  them  down  by  an  unbroken  chain 
of  memory.  Instead,  however,  of  continuing  past 
these  grottoes,  Revato  branched  off  into  a  by-road 
and  soon  reached  the  gate  of  his  own  abode. 

The  old  city  of  Rajagaha  lay  in  a  far  northeastern 
offshoot  of  those  mountains,  the  Vinjhas,  which 
divide  the  valley  of  Ganga  from  that  great  central 
plateau,  the  Dakkhinapatha,  Dekkan,  Southern 
Road.  The  city  dated  from  immemorial  days.  It 
had  witnessed  the  tumults  of  nations  stirred  up  by 
the  abduction  of  Sita  from  Ramo.  A  thousand 
years  had  passed  since  the  war  among  the  offspring 
of  the  Great  Bharata  when  its  king  Jarasandho  had 
been  slain  by  Bhlmo,  son  of  Pandu — a  bloody  mem 
ory  for  the  present  era  of  peace.  The  compact, 
closely  built  town,  hardly  three  miles  in  circuit,  had 
been  laid  out,  it  was  said,  by  that  ancient  architect, 
the  Maha  Govindo,  and  its  massive  walls  of  stone 
were  a  marvel  throughout  the  land  of  Magadha. 
Giribbaja,  the  Mountain  Stronghold — Bergenburg 
— was  from  of  old  its  favorite  name,  for  it  nestled 
in  the  hollow  of  five  precipitous  hills,  Vebhara, 
Vipula,  Pandava,  Isigili  and  Udaya*,  which  'twere 

*  For  this  southeastern  hill  I  can  find  no  name  of  the  Bud 
dhist  period,  but  feel  justified  in  using  the  modern  one,  because 
that  is  in  good  Pali  form  and  is  used  somewhere  to  denote  the 
"Sunrise  Mountain." 


[8] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


infidelity  not  to  mention  severally,  so  teemed  they 
with  memories  of  Buddho.  Far  as  traveled  the 
Dhamma,  there  followed  it  the  fame  of  the  "Five 
Hills,"  yet  with  a  sad  confusion,  for  strangers  classed 
among  them  Gijjhakuta,  the  Vulture's  Peak,  which 
really  was  a  sixth  mountain  northeastward  behind 
Pandava  as  a  spur  to  the  group.  It  rose  terrace 
upon  terrace,  highest  and  grandest  of  all  and  dearer 
to  the  pious  heart  than  even  Vebhara. 

That  fragrant  sacrificial  kusa,  or  munja,  grass, 
which  abounded  in  the  vicinity,  had  given  the  old 
city  another  characterizing  name,  Kusagarapura. 
Its  third  cognomen,  Rajagaha,  the  King's  House, 
more  properly  belonged  to  the  new  town  on  the  open 
land  below  the  valley.  Thither  had  the  seat  of 
Magadha  government  been  moved  in  Buddho's  time, 
nearly  three  centuries  before,  though  now  departed 
from  the  region.  The  story  ran  that  King  Bimbisaro 
had  decreed  banishment  to  the  "cold  forest" — the 
cemetery — for  anyone  who  negligently  allowed 
his  house  to  take  fire,  and  when  it  chanced  to  be 
the  palace  which  burned,  he  drove  himself  to  exile 
upon  the  charnel  ground  beyond  the  northern  gate. 
Thus,  the  "King's  House"  had  formed  a  nucleus  for 
the  more  modern  town. 

THE  HEIR  TO  THE   REVATOS   OF   OLD 

Revato's  homestead,  in  which  he  had  spent  all  the 
remembered  years  of  his  thirty  or  more,  stood  some 
distance  off  the  road  between  the  two  cities.  The 
dwelling  was  built  of  brick,  stuccoed,  larger  and 
older  than  neighboring  ones,  and  it  was  curiously 
adorned  with  moulded  cornices.  Farther  out  in  the 
country  were  fields  which  one  of  Revato's  remote 
ancestors — unlike  the  Ariyas  generally,  who  were 
inclined  to  leave  agriculture  to  the  earlier  inhabi 
tants—had  cleared  from  the  forest  and  which  had 
remained  a  heritage,  tilled  by  servants  or  on  shares 
while  the  owners  had  often  been  officially  and  other 
wise  occupied.  Legally,  these  servants  were  held  in 
a  mild  serfdom,  but  had  one  of  them  chosen  to  better 
his  condition  elsewhere,  Revato  would  not  have  said 
him  nay,  and  might  have  been  the  gladder  party,  for 
they  maintained  the  upper  hand  of  him  in  their  deal 
ings.  Most  of  the  neighboring  land  had  from  of  old 
been  cultivated  by  peasant  proprietors  or  communal 
villages.  Since  the  consolidation  of  the  empire,  the 
titles  to  arable  land  had  become  more  largely  vested 
in  the  Crown,  and  this  included  Revato's,  so  that 
only  the  possession,  not  the  property  right,  came 
down  to  him  through  the  last  few  generations.  The 
difference  was  no  mere  distinction,  for  it  subjected 
him  to  a  rental  tax  averaging  a  fifth  of  the  produce; 
in  addition,  he  had  to  contribute  about  one-third  of 
it  in  water  rates  for  irrigation.  No  wonder  that  farm 
ing  had  ceased  to  pay!  Before  he  took  the  customs 
office  he  never  could  make  ends  meet  without  spend 
ing  much  of  his  own  time  in  the  fields,  often  plodding 
behind  the  oxen  at  the  plough. 

The  family  were  of  noble  white  Khattiya  color, 
like  the  Gotamo  Buddho  himself,  though  the  force  of 


such  a  rank  was  much  lessened  by  the  confusion  due 
to  erasure  of  class  lines  in  the  religious  Order.  There 
the  meanest  outcaste  could  become  a  peer  with  the 
highest  saint.  The  Venerable  Bharadvajo  was  born 
of  _the  white  Brahmin  color,  and  Venerable  Kon- 
danno  as  a  bourgeois  Vessa  mixed  with  some  non- 
Aryan  blood,  but  in  the  Sangha  they  shared  as 
brothers.  Since  the  building  of  new  Rajagaha,  the 
old  mountain  city  had  been  given  over  largely  to 
families  who  were  Brahmin,  not  only  in  color,  but 
also  in  religion.  With  these  deva  worshippers  the 
Buddhist  Brahmins  were  less  closely  in  sympathy 
than  with  their  neighbors  of  other  colors  but  their 
own  faith.  If  they  could  forget  caste  lines  when 
meeting  consecrated  samanas,  why  not  among 
fellow  laymen?  Especially  might  this  be  easy 
between  the  Khattiya  and  Brahmin,  whose  rivalry, 
founded  on  the  conflicting  claims  of  Church  and  State, 
was  disarmed  by  the  overthrow  of  priestcraft. 
Quite  of  another  category  were  their  social  differ 
ences  from  the  plebian  Vessas,  still  more  from  the 
servile,  mongrel  Suddas  or  the  outcaste  Candalas 
and  Pukkasas,  of  an-ariyaka — non-Ariyan — subju 
gated  stock.  Religion  had  not  destroyed  the  racial 
instinct  of  self-preservation  from  drowning  in  impure 
blood.  Not  the  meekest  among  unworldly  brethren 
could  help  but  see  with  satisfaction  the  untinged 
whiteness  of  his  Aryan  skin  or  could  forget  if  his 
parentage  was  among  the  castes  of  the  Twice-Born. 
Revato's  own  position  at  Ragajaga  was  anomalous, 
for  his  father's  family  were  unknown  to  its  traditions. 
His  mother,  Sundari,  through  whom  descended  the 
estate,  had  in  her  youth  attended  on  the  queen  at 
Pataliputta,  where  she  had  married,  soon  to  be 
deserted  by  her  husband  and  return  to  her  father's 
house  with  her  child.  She  was  a  strong-spirited 
woman  who  kept  herself  by  preference  in  seclusion 
as  strict  as,  by  a  growing  custom,  the  aristocracy 
enforced  on  wives  and  widows  of  wealthy  men  in  the 
large  towns,  but  this  implied  no  recognition  of  sex 
inferiority  on  her  part.  Rather,  it  was  an  alienation 
from  her  neighbors  in  experience  and  feeling.  To 
her  religious  duties  she  was  punctiliously  faithful; 
even  in  so  clerically  populous  a  district  as  Rajagaha 
no  alms  bowl  ever  left  her  door  without  rice,  curry 
or  sweet  cakes,  while  robe  stuffs  of  her  donation 
busied  many  a  monastic  sewing  party  with  their 
adaptation  after  they  had  first  been  dyed  a  tawny 
yellow  to  mimic  the  dust-heap  rags  of  more  fervid 
days.  But  there  was  perceptible  in  her  attitude 
toward  the  doctrine  and  discipline  a  certain  defi 
ciency  of  enthusiasm,  a  tacit  failure  of  whole-hearted 
approval,  which  suggested  that,  if  she  had  broken 
the  fetters  of  present  worldly  desire,  she  was  wil 
fully  wearing  those  of  memory. 

Of  his  father,  who  had  died  before  the  beginning 
of  Revato's  recollection,  she  spoke  not,  but  the 
faint  revelations  of  her  manner  when  any  remark 
grazed  the  tabooed  subject  were  like  glimpses  of  a 
god.  The  little  he  knew  had  been  told  him  by  the 
monks  from  hearsay,  one  fact  being  his  father's 


[9] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


early  death  in  some  wild  adventure.  There  were 
many  other  circumstances  that  might  have  excited 
his  curiosity,  but  having  grown  up  from  infancy 
fixed  with  the  habit  of  ignorance  concerning  them, 
his  mind  had  never  chanced  to  receive  an  impulse 
to  their  discovery.  (Our  long  limitations  of  thought 
astound  us  after  we  break  them,  but  many  we  never 
break.  The  mental  eye  is  marvelously  able  to  over 
look  its  blind  spots.)  For  example,  he  never  had 
settled  his  father's  caste.  His  mother's  pedigree  and 
his  own  exceptional  lightness  of  complexion  seemed 
sufficient  guarantee,  and  he  failed  to  realize  the 
reserve  in  which  he  was  held  by  some  of  his  more 
punctilious  acquaintances  who  were  aware  of  the 
doubt. 

Again,  he  had  never  heard  his  father  mentioned 
by  name.  As  successor  to  his  grandfather,  Ajjuko, 
he  had  been  assumed  to  adopt  the  latter's  surname 
Kaccayano,  but  had  acquired  a  nickname  which 
fully  supplanted  it.  This  was  Yuvano,  meaning 
Young,  the  aptness  of  which  was  never  made  clear, 
since  he  had  always  been  old  beyond  his  years. 
Perhaps  the  epithet  was  due  to  occasional  ebulli 
tions  of  vivacious  spirit  which,  habitually  imprisoned, 
burst  forth  at  times  to  an  ecstasy  as  of  young  an 
imals  sporting  in  the  Spring.  His  gravity  and  levity 
intruded  each  on  each  most  fitfully.  He  was  like 
the  child  of  a  hen  which  southern  merchants  once 
had  brought  from  the  eastern  country  and  which 
had  been  beloved  by  a  crow;  for  whenever  this 
chick  essayed  to  crow  like  a  cock  he  would  say 
"caw,  caw,"  and  whenever  he  tried  to  utter  the 
voice  of  a  crow  he  would  call  "cock-a-doodle-doo." 

Revato  "Yuvano's"  playmates,  from  which  his 
nickname  had  come,  were  fond  of  pronouncing  it  so 
that  it  sounded  like  Yavano,  which  is  the  same  with 
Yonako,  Ionian,  Foreign — as  if  they  felt  the  pres 
ence  of  some  strange  element. 

The  personal  name  Revato,  which  he  bore, 
though  suggested  by  his  birth  in  the  nakkhatta,  or 
asterism,  of  Revati,  was  also  an  heirloom  encrusted 
with  many  previous  memories  from  the  hands 
through  which  it  had  passed.  First  of  all,  if  the 
legends  were  credible,  it  had  belonged,  in  long-ago 
eternities,  to  a  former  Buddho.  The  inspiration 
which  he  should  derive  from  this  fact,  his  teachers 
were  ever  impressing  upon  him,  but  he  himself 
found  more  to  awaken  enthusiasm  in  thoughts  of 
Revato  Khadiravaniyo,  the  Forest  Habitant,  and 
Kanka-Revato,  the  Victorious  One,  true,  living 
men  of  his  name,  who  only  two  or  three  hundred 
rainy  seasons  before  had  looked  in  the  face  of  the 
Blessed  One,  had  heard  his  compassionate  words 
and  had  followed  him  through  the  years  of  footsore 
wandering.  One  of  these  famous  apostles  Revato 
had  been  our  Revato's  uncle,  many  generations 
removed. 

Then  again,  something  like  halfway  between 
that  time  and  his  own,  came  the  celebrated  Elder 
Revato  of  Soreyya,  near  Takkasila,  who  had 
presided  at  the  Council  of  Vesali,  where  the  lati- 


tudinarian  heresy  was  condemned,  and  which 
marked  the  great  schism.  A  man  of  prodigious 
learning,  who  knew  by  heart  almost  the  entire 
Canon  of  Scripture,  he  was  "intelligent  and  wise, 
modest,  conscientious  and  devoted  to  the  precepts." 
At  Vesali,  he  was  a  guest  of  that  Polycarp  in  apos 
tolic  succession,  Sabbakami,  who  had  been  a  pupil 
of  the  disciple  Anando  and  who  had  lived  to  become 
the  oldest  thera  in  the  world.  These  two  patriarchs 
communed  in  their  cell  of  the  causes  which  had  pro 
longed  their  lives  in  vigor  (for  Revato  after  his 
journey  required  neither  sleep  nor  rest).  "They 
say,  beloved  one,"  spake  Sabbakami,  "that  you  have 
continued  thus  long  by  ease  of  life,  and  this  indeed 
is  a  life  of  ease,  the  continuance  in  love."  "Even 
of  yore,  when  I  was  a  layman,  Sir,"  answered 
Revato,  "much  love  was  laid  up  in  my  heart;  there 
fore  it  is  that  I  now  live  much  in  the  sense  of  love 
and  I  have  long  since  attained  the  Goal  of  Peace. 
And  you,  by  what  manner  of  life  have  you  now  lived 
these  many  years?"  "By  abiding  in  the  sense  of 
emptiness  of  worldly  things,  beloved  one,  I  have 
lived  these  many  years." 

The  Venerable  Bharadvajo,  when  a  novice,  had 
been  told  by  his  superior  that,  while  the  latter  was  a 
very  young  child,  an  ancient  monk  had  stopped  at 
his  mother's  door  and  she  had  given  the  lad  a  sweet 
cake  to  drop  in  the  bowl,  bidding  him  to  remember 
always  how  he  had  made  an  offering  to  the  famous 
Revato  of  Soreyya.  But  vastly  more  than  this,  it 
was  that  self-same  bowl — an  iron  one — which 
Bhavadvajo  now  carried,  he  having  received  it 
through  several  generations  of  superiors  and  pupils 
under  the  canon  law  of  heredity  by  personal  service. 
Bharadvajo  still  lived  in  hope  that  this  bowl  would 
one  day  pass  to  Revato  Yuvano. 

The  previously  mentioned  remote  uncle  of  Revato 
Yuvano  was  reputed  as  the  author  of  a  certain 
hymn  among  those  in  the  Thera-Theri-Gatha,  a 
numerous  collection  attributed  to  early  Elders  and 
Elderesses  who  had  lived  in  the  days  when  doctrine 
was  simple,  piety  fervid  and  the  joy  of  salvation  a 
real  experience.  These  gathas  ran  as  follows: 

"When,  household  life  renouncing, 

To  homeless  ways  I  turned, 
The  lore  of  guile  and  malice 

I  straightaway  unlearned. 

"I  counsel  not  to  injure 

The  living  high  or  low. 
Their  pain  is  not  my  pleasure; 

A  wiser  plan  I  know. 

"For  I  have  learned  that  friendship, 

That  rich,  impartial  good 
Which  grows  in  swift  progression 

As  Buddho  told  it  would. 

"Of  all  I  am  a  comrade, 

To  all  a  brother  true. 
With  each  that  feels  and  quivers 

I  feel  and  quiver  too. 


[10] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


"I  train  my  thoughts  to  ponder 

On  amity  and  peace 
And  wait  that  perfect  Respite 

When  suffering  shall  cease. 

"Unmoved  and  never  yielding, 

My  soul  hath  rare  delights, 
Intent  on  holy  musings 

Abhorred  of  wicked  wights. 

"For  in  the  true  disciple 

Of  him  so  clear  and  high, 
A  noble  stillness  enters 

When  thoughts  of  evil  fly. 

"Like  admantine  mountains 

Firm  in  their  stable  bed, 
That  monk  no  more  shall  tremble 

In  whom  is  folly  dead. 

"They  who  stand  pure  by  purging 

Are  jealous  for  the  clean; 
No  hair-tip  mote  of  evil 

Can  hover  long  unseen. 

"Just  as  a  guarded  city 

Is  watched  on  every  side, 
Without  and  in  keep  vigil 

Nor  let  the  moments  glide. 

"In  life  is  not  my  pleasure 

Nor  death  is  my  desire; 
I,  like  the  stolid  worker, 

Await  my  promised  hire. 

"Not  eager  for  departure 

Nor  yet  with  life  elate, 
Attentive,  understanding, 

I  mark  the  time  and  wait. 

"I've  done  the  Buddho's  bidding, 

The  Teacher's  rule  employed; 
My  heavy  burden's  fallen, 

My  craving  is  destroyed. 

"That  cause  for  which,  renouncing, 

I  wandered  forth  at  first 
Is  now  the  vital  reason 

That  all  my  fetters  burst. 

"Achieve  ye  then  by  vigil 

As  I  have  done  before, 
Now  perfect  in  salvation 

And  soon  to  be  no  more." 

Such  were  the  homely,  earnest  lines  which  Revato 
had  been  taught  from  infancy  as  a  guide  and  inspira 
tion  for  his  life.  They  had  been  woven  into  the  text 
ure  of  his  growing  mind  and,  if  their  familiarity  to 
him  had  bred  contempt,  they  were  nevertheless  a 
part  of  himself.  The  amiability,  the  peace,  the 
perfection  of  this  Revato  Thero  he  had  failed  to 
develop,  T)ut  there  is  no  doubt  that  much  in  him  of 
scruple,  much  of  inoffensiveness,  much  of  strong,  if 
misapplied,  moral  power,  was  due  to  this  ancient 
namesake,  this  patron  saint. 

The  morbidly  conscientious  strain  in  Revato 
Yuvano  was  derived,  like  his  worldly  possessions, 
not  from  his  mother  but  through  her  from  his  grand 
father,  the  Venerable  Ajjuko,  who  had  died  twenty 
years  before.  Ajjuko  had  in  his  old  age  left  the 
household  life  for  the  homeless  one,  transferring  his 

[II 


lands  and  cattle  to  his  young  grandson,  as  one  civilly 
dead. 

Thereafter  he  had  tenanted  one  of  the  old  cave 
parivenas,  cells,  on  the  Vulture's  Peak  and  had  never 
again  entered  his  home.  Revato  remembered  him 
silently  standing  at  the  door  that  had  once  been  his 
own,  taking  his  bowl  from  his  sling  and  holding  it 
out  to  await  a  pinda,  a  morsel,  of  rice  and  vegetable 
curry  from  his  daughter's  hands,  yet  tremulous  lest 
filial  piety  should  shorten  the  begging  round. 

That  impulse  to  self-mortification  which  led  the 
Brahmin  hermits  to  excesses  carried  Ajjuko  into 
macerations  of  hardly  less  severity  through  the 
ingenious  difficulties  which  he  read  into  Buddho's 
clear,  mild  precepts.  Between  ancestor  and  grand 
son  there  was,  however,  this  difference,  that,  whereas 
Revato  reasoned  from  first  principles,  Ajjuko's 
casuistry  had  never  peered  behind  traditional  rules, 
but  only  was  concerned  with  their  interpretation. 
For  example,  five  trades  have  been  denounced  by 
Gotamo  as  wrong,  even  for  a  layman — commerce 
in  slaves,  meat,  weapons,  liquors  and  poisons. 

"If  these  practices  be  evil  for  one  who  has  not 
yet  entered  the  consecrated  life,"  argued  Ajjuko, 
"how  much  more  is  it  the  duty  of  a  samana  to 
remove  any  implication  of  sin!"  Bond  servants  he 
no  longer  held;  during  his  worldly  life  he  had  repeat 
edly  offered  to  release  them  from  that  mild  servitude 
which  stood  in  Magadha  for  slavery,  and  they  had 
declined  freedom.  But  there  were  present  issues  in 
rejecting  every  morsel  of  meat  curry  from  his  bowl; 
in  avoiding  to  touch  any  sharp-edged  instrument, 
even  a  knife  with  which  to  cut  a  mango  fruit;  in 
refusing  the  narcotic  drinks  and  noxious  herbs 
which  were  presented  to  him  in  sickness.  These 
over  zealous  scruples  had  not  lessened  the  haughti 
ness  of  the  lady  Sundari  toward  the  Order  and  the 
Doctrine. 

It  was  by  Venerable  Ajjuko  that  the  child  Revato 
had  been  brought  under  special  notice  of  the  Society. 
When  the  old  man  died  he  had  left  to  Venerable 
Bharadvajo,  in  particular,  a  religious  guardianship, 
which  office  had  rested  well  on  the  appointee. 

Revato's  most  familiar  comrades  from  infancy 
had  been  the  monks,  upon  whom  he  might  almost 
have  thereby  fixed  the  guilt  of  kulasamatthadosa — • 
the  offence  of  associating  with  the  laity.  Corre 
spondingly,  his  intimacy  with  his  worldly  neighbors 
was  weak.  The  various  removal  in  estate  and  con 
dition  already  mentioned  typified  his  relations  with 
them.  A  certain  aloofness  had  always  existed, 
hardly  hostile  or  depreciatory  on  either  side,  an 
elusive  distinction.  It  might  reasonably  have  been 
attributed  to  a  multiplicity  of  minute  outward 
unlikenesses — but  an  astute  observer  would  have 
sought  the  cause  of  Revato's  ungenial  singularity  in 
that  inward  isolation  which  enhanced  those  slight 
idiosyncrasies  of  person  and  status.  His  was  one  of 
those  natures  born  to  aloneness,  who  may  be  called 
in  a  spiritual  sense  sunnagaragato,  solitude-gone, 
established  in  isolation  of  heart. 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


Perhaps  no  human  element  of  his  environment 
had  contributed  so  much  to  formation  of  what  was 
best  in  his  character  as  the  reminiscent  influences  of 
his  home  town,  Rajagaha.  It  was  a  place  more 
than  any  other  in  the  world  pervaded  by  suggestions 
of  that  gentle  philosophy  which  is  for  souls  in  whom 
clenches  the  anguish  of  the  world.  This  was  the 
region  which  Gotamo  Buddho,  during  his  fifty-one 
years  of  homeless  life,  had  most  nearly  called  a  home. 
The  four  sites  whereon  he  had  passed  his  great 
crises — birth,  attainment,  proclamation  and  death — 
might  be  more  sacred  for  monuments  and  pilgrim 
ages,  but  here  among  the  hills  which  sheltered 
Giribbaja,  was  hardly  a  rock  or  a  tree  where  he  had 
not  at  some  time  rested  from  his  wanderings  and 
spoken  words  of  release  from  despair. 

MEMORIES TATHAGATO,    THE    LIKEWISE    GOER 

When  from  his  birthland,  under  the  brow  of 
Himacala  Mountains  in  the  far  Northwest,  driven 
forth  by  the  madness  of  vicarious  misery,  the  still 
youthful  Gotamo  had  strayed  to  Rajagaha.  Accord 
ing  to  the  psalm-story,  his  highborn  dignity  shining 
through  his  beggarly  attire  as  he  rested  by  the 
rocky  side  of  Pandava  had  brought  King  Bimbisaro 
to  proffer  him  honor.  Successively  he  sat  at  the 
feet  of  the  pandits  Alaro  and  Uddako,  seeking  for 
saving  truth,  but  soon  he  found  that  they  were  no 
wiser  then  he,  and  lower  in  their  aspirations.  Al 
ready  too  he  may  be  imagined  as  questioning  the 
Brahmin  theory  which  later  he  so  ardently  opposed. 
"Nought  is  real  but  soul,"  it  affirmed,  "retire  into 
yourself  and  realize  your  isolation  from  all  evil." 
"What  is  this  soul?"  he  must  have  objected.  "Such 
an  independent,  self-sufficient  soul  is  a  fatuous 
notion.  The  only  soul  that  we  have  is  a  complex 
product  of  life  and  though  it  be  renewed  and  culti 
vated  through  endless  lives,  it  can  never  be  freed 
from  the  conditions  of  living  which  are  disappoint 
ment  and  pain." 

What  deep  inquirer  ever  got  a  satisfactory  human 
answer?  Forth  again  went  Gotamo  into  the  forest, 
this  time  to  spend  six  fanatical  years  in  the  macera 
tions  of  self-martyrdom.  One  day,  fallen  faint  with 
fasting,  he  accepted  a  bowl  of  rice  milk  from  the 
herdsman's  daughter  Sujata,  ^and  by  it  came  that 
glad  physical  reaction  which  inverted  the  direction 
of  his  mind,  ushering  him  into  a  state  of  calm  reflec 
tion  and  ultimate  triumph. 

The  trwth,  as  he  saw  it,  found  the  root  of  suffering 
is  egoism,  for  self  in  the  Brahmin  sense  did  not  exist. 
"There  is  no  being  perpetual  nor  are  the  sangkharas 
— the  Properties  of  being — eternal,"  he  affirmed. 
"They  are  produced  and  these  elements  successively 
disappear."  The  soul,  he  decided,  is  a  part  of  life, 
born,  dying  and  reborn  therewith,  and  so — though 
by  way  of  successorship  rather  than  identity — per 
petually  held  down  to  suffering  existence. 

Thus  did  Gotamo,  arguing  in  a  philosophy  which 
would  have  made  other  men  deny  future  life,  find 
a  way  for  a  firm  belief  therein,  tragic  though  he 


deemed  it,  and  earnestly  though  he  sought  a  way 
of  escape  from  it.  His  principles  pointed  him  to  an 
application.  Other  seers,  by  contrary  principles, 
have  been  guided  toward  a  like  application.  His 
beneficent  influence  upon  the  world  was  due  less  to 
his  theory  than  to  his  practical  constructiveness. 
As  a  means  to  destroy  that  desire,  that  craving  of 
self,  which  keeps  one  in  the  wheel  of  transmigration, 
he  outlined,  and  during  the  forty-five  remaining 
years  of  his  life  he  proclaimed,  a  far  more  compre 
hensive  system  of  right  living  than  Ariya  Land 
had  known.  Every  wayward  thought  was  to  be 
recalled,  every  oblique  motive  rectified,  every  latent 
reservation  exposed.  No  contingency  of  life  was  so 
unusual  that  a  helpful  rule  could  not  be  framed  to 
anticipate  it,  no  evil  desire  so  deep  that  it  could  not 
be  probed,  no  living  thing  so  despicable  that  it  could 
not  be  treated  in  tenderness. 

From  the  time  the  light  had  dawned  upon  him 
and  he  had  fortified  his  soul  with  his  seven  times 
seven  days  of  struggle  against  temptation  by  the 
river  Neranjara,  until  the  end  of  his  life,  no  wavering 
of  confidence  troubled  him  and  no  unclean  sentiment 
soiled  his  counsels  of  perfection. 

The  new  altruism  came  to  be  expressed  in  terms  of 
calculating  selfishness  and  men  did  good  for  the 
explicit  purpose  of  writing  the  Deed — Kamma — to 
their  own  account.  Thus,  perverted  religion  has 
always  been  prone  to  emphasize  less  a  recipient's 
distress  than  the  giver's  placation  of  some  Power  by 
the  alms-deed — as  if  such  were  the  motive  to  service 
which  the  Power  requires!  As  if  the  eye  of  man 
should  dwell  most  intently  upon  Divinity  and  not 
rather,  like  Divinity,  upon  suffering  humanity! 
Keen  is  the  irony  against  souls  lost  in  self-saving. 
Ultimate  surprise  in  store  equally  for  them  and  for 
those  who,  through  spontaneous  acts  of  pity  toward 
the  least  of  creatures,  are  ministering  to  the  unsus 
pected  Eternal.  But  the  commercial  spirit  in  good 
ness  was  not  from  the  beginning,  for  it  presupposes 
a  time  when  kind  deeds  were  done  for  pity's  sake 
and  the  doers  learned  that  they  were  blessed  therein. 
Thus  grew  up  the  doctrine  that  spiritual  peace  is  a 
commodity  purchasable  by  charity.  But  who  can 
imagine  that  men  such  as  the  single-hearted  Bharad- 
vajo  were  merely  self-interested? 

Likewise,  in  the  old  days,  m«rcy  to  animals  may 
have  been  motived,  not  by  theories  about  their  place 
in  the  Wheel  of  Existence,  but  by  compassion  for 
their  dumb  helplessness,  and  the  theories  (ever  less 
a  factor  than  supposed)  grew  up  to  meet  the  demand 
for  them. 

But,  after  all,  it  cannot  be  true  that  conscious  self- 
saving  is  entirely  wrong,  for  how  trivial  are  any 
sufferings  in  this  world  compared  with  our  own 
possible  ones  in  other  worlds!  To  Gotamo  Buddho's 
genuine  altruism,  witness  enough  is  found  in  his 
years  of  pitying  service  after  he  had  no  longer  need 
to  strive  on  his  own  behalf;  but  it  was  a  prudent 
altruism,  which  regarded  for  others  chiefly  their 
eternal  welfare.  "There  are  two  forms  of  kindliness," 

12] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


he  said,  "material  and  spiritual,  and  the  spiritual 
is  the  higher." 

In  Salvation  by  Merit  we  may  suspect  a  perversion 
from  Salvation  by  Character  (a  nobler  idea,  however 
insufficient  when  tested  by  human  weakness.) 
Though  Kamma  means  Deed,  Act,  the  subjective 
value  of  the  Deed  was  originally  seen  to  lie  in  its 
self-disciplinary  power,  and  the  state  of  mind  behind 
the  Deed  counted  for  more  than  the  overt  act. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Gotamo's  philosophy 
rested  on  a  denial  of  the  old  self-soul,  it  replaced  it 
by  a  very  efficient  soul  in  the  form  of  this  same 
Kamma,  a  force  by  which  the  individual,  so  long  as 
tainted  with  evil,  was  renewed  in  the  hereafter,  thus 
precluding  excape  from  punishment  by  the  expedient 
of  death.  Kamma  was  therefore  a  seed  planted  to 
germinate  anew. 

It  was  pre-eminently  the  believing  patronage  of 
King  Bimbisaro  that  disposed  the  Master  to  pass 
so  many  of  his  rainy  seasons  at  the  Magadhese 
Capital,  whither  his  journeys  reciprocated  from  Sa- 
vatthi,  chief  city  of  the  Kosala  Kingdom.  Some 
times  he  traveled  eastward  through  Baranasi,  on  the 
Ganges,  sometimes  northward  to  the  edge  of  the 
Great  Wood,  to  Vesali  of  the  Vajjian  Licchavls, 
strong  among  the  free  clans  in  their  resistance  to 
encroaching  monarchies. 

During  his  first  season  of  ministry  at  Giribbaja, 
Buddho  had  encamped  in  the  Latthivana  Grove, 
southwest  of  town,  by  the  road  leading  up  from 
Uruvela.  As  a  preferable  place  of  residence,  the 
Veluvana  was  soon  bestowed  upon  him  and  his 
disciples  by  the  King.  Here,  again  and  again,  he 
passed  his  Lenten  seasons  of  rest  and  preaching. 
Sometimes  for  retirement  and  meditation,  he  would 
retreat  to  the  caves  on  Gijjhakuto,  while  companies 
of  the  bhikkhus  raised  temporary  grass  huts  on  the 
slopes  of  Isigili  or  other  mountains. 

Many  folk  resorted  to  him  at  the  Bambu  pleas- 
aunce  to  dispute  with  him  until  they  could  no  longer 
resist  his  gracious  words.  There  came  among  others 
the  brilliant  young  court  physician,  Jivako  Komara- 
bhacco,  of  ignoble  birth  but  royal  adoption,  who  had 
studied  his  profession  in  the  great  university  town 
of  Takkasila,  far  in  the  mountainous  Northwest.  By 
him,  as  a  token  of  his  devotion  to  the  Enlightened 
One,  and  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  growing  Sangha, 
was  given  the  Mango  Grove,  which  he  further  en 
dowed  with  a  preaching  hall,  and  which  since  has 
borne  his  name.  He  it  was  who  also  healed  Gotamo 
of  a  disease  acquired,  evidently,  by  wearing  patch 
work  robes  of  offcast  rags  found  in  cemeteries  and 
on  dust-heaps.  By  his  tactfulness  the  Tathagato 
was  led  to  discard  this  custom  for  a  fashion  of  attire 
more  sanitary  and  more  consistent  with  his  own 
policy  of  moderation. 

Considerate  indeed  was  the  Dhamma's  Lord  of 
his  disciples'  comfort  and  impartial  in  his  regulations, 
for  he  allowed  to  all  a  thickness  of  clothing  gauged 
by  the  needs  of  the  most  sensitive.  From  his  sump- 

[13 


tuary  laws  sickness  wrought  a  liberal  dispensation. 
A  general  rule  permitting  use  of  weavers'  looms  he 
had  made  in  consideration  of  a  nervous  invalid 
brother  whose  mind  craved  absorption  in  a  handi 
craft. 

Such  incidents  touched  Revato  with  the  gentle 
human  reasonableness  of  the  Blessed  One.  Narrow 
religionists  might  contend  for  an  unswerving  omni 
science  in  the  Master,  which  their  cherished  tradi 
tions  belied,  but  for  Revato  such  a  belief  would  have 
destroyed  half  the  confidence  in  that  wise  leadership. 
The  Layman  preferred  to  recognize  Bhagava's  open- 
mindedness,  his  discreet  opportunism,  even;  his 
supreme  devotion  to  truth  although  it  might  prove 
his  own  fallibility;  his  implied  consent  to  readjust 
ments  of  opinion  which  future  knowledge  might 
demand  of  others.  Did  not  Gotamo,  in  his  last  hours 
with  his  disciples,  advise  that  after  his  departure 
they  should  heed  the  words  of  any  qualified  teacher 
among  them,  and  did  he  not  offer  them  full  permis 
sion  to  abolish  all  the  minor  precepts? 

Revato  could  not  bring  himself  to  follow  blindly, 
even  Sattha,  the  great  Teacher.  He  acknowledged 
that  every  man  whose  ethics  are  real  must  form 
them  for  himself,  shaped  by  the  specialties  of  his 
own  conscience,  wherein  dwells  ultimate  authority. 
While  he  could  not  avail  himself  of  the  distinction 
between  monastic  and  lay  morality,  he  felt,  on  the 
other  hand,  little  bound  by  what  seemed  accidental, 
conventional.  An  appreciation  of  a  similar  candid 
spirit  in  the  Lord  of  the  Dhamma  himself  tended  to 
check  Revato's  centrifugal  disposition  and  hold  him 
to  the  Faith.  Broadminded  and  humanly  flexible, 
as  Revato  saw  him,  was  the  Tathagato.  But  there 
was  about  him  a  perfection  which  seemed  super 
human.  Weary  and  wordy  were  the  old  texts,  all 
that  puerile  taste  could  do  had  been  done  to  mar 
the  fair  image  of  the  Exalted  One.  Yet,  even  in  the 
most  grotesque  tales,  it  was  impossible  to  find  one 
smirch  upon  the  purity  of  his  conduct,  one  wanton 
ly  severe  word  that  had  escaped  his  lips.  When 
reflecting  upon  the  clearness  and  patience  of  that 
character,  Revato  felt  a  barrier  rise  between  himself 
and  his  own  lower  nature.  To  quiet  the  heart's 
clamor  for  indulgence,  for  laxity  in  the  conditions  of 
salvation,  no  other  means  was  half  so  potent  as 
fixing  the  thoughts  upon  him. 

Especially  was  Buddho's  freedom  for  conviction 
shown  when,  at  the  entreaties  of  his  kinswomen 
aided  by  the  persuasions  of  Anando  (still  the  saint 
beloved  by  women)  he  first  admitted  their  sex  to  the 
company  of  sanctified  ones — even  if  reluctantly. 

In  his  fifth  vassa,  spent  here  at  Rajagaha,  there 
came  to  him  from  his  home  city  Kapilavatthu  the 
tidings  of  his  father's  last  sickness  and,  hastening 
across  the  intervening  expanse  of  country,  he  arrived 
before  the  end.  It  was  soon  after  this  that  he  framed 
the  rule  for  a  female  Order  into  which  were  admitted 
his  foster-mother  PajapatI  and  Yasodhara  that  had 
been  his  wife.  His  son  Rahulo,  while  yet  a  young  lad, 
had  followed  him  among  the  brethren,  later  to 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


become  a  devoted  samana.  Thus  was  removed  the 
bitterness  of  that  harsh  abandonment  (cruel  most 
upon  himself)  to  which  his  heart  had  compelled  him 
for  the  deliverance  of  humanity. 

For  this  elevation  of  woman  from  her  low  estate, 
his  breadth  of  mind  might  well  astound,  since  he 
held  sex  to  be  wholly  evil,  and  in  his  time  sex  and 
woman  were  ideas  almost  inseparable.  His  achieve 
ment  was  to  create  a  new  and  higher  kind  of  life, 
wherein  would  be  neither  male  nor  female. 

Even-  more  willing  had  the  Tathagato  been  to 
ignore  the  differences  of  vanna,  color,  and  to  shame 
away  the  injustice  of  society.  The  Buddhist  move 
ment  was  not  a  mere  selfish  contest  of  the  powerful 
and  wealthy  Khattiyas  to  gain  spiritual  lordship 
as  well,  for  if  so,  they  would  not  have  shared  the 
spoil  equally  with  the  despised  colors.  Pure  benevo 
lence  must  have  actuated  Jino — the  Conqueror — 
Buddho,  when, 

"Er  zerbrach  die  Zwingherrnburgen 
Und  zerbrach  des  Knechtes  Joch. " 

A  delicate  consideration  had  been  shown  by  the 
Blessed  One  even  for  his  enemies,  the  Nigantha 
heretics.  When  Slho,  the  Licchavi  generalissimo, 
had  turned  from  that  religion  to  his,  he  had  coun 
seled:  "Deem  it  right,  Siho,  still  to  give  the  Nigan- 
thas  those  alms  which  they  have  so  long  received  at 
your  house."  And  yet  these  false  religionists  were  at 
that  very  time  fomenting  public  clamour  against 
him  by  malicious  slanders! 

Revato  admired  also  the  scorn  with  which  Gotamo 
had  treated  vain  display  of  supernatural  powers. 
Here  at  Rajagaha  was  still  standing  the  house  of  the 
man  whose  magically  fetched  down  bowl  had  occa 
sioned  enactment  of  one  of  the  canonical  disci 
plinary  rules.  In  the  Bambu  Grove  the  teacher 
had  convinced  the  householder  Sigalo  that  the  only 
charms  which  can  securely  guard  the  six  cardinal 
points  of  a  home  are  the  circumradient  potencies  of 
good  deeds. 

Here  too,  at  Rajagaha,  lingered  the  pathos  of 
Buddho's  old  age,  beset  with  many  sorrows.  His 
cousin  and  disciple  Devadatto  had  led  a  schism  from 
the  Society  under  pretext  of  demanding  a  stricter 
rule  and  even  had  attempted  his  Master's  life  by 
rolling  down  a  rock,  still  pointed  out  on  the  moun 
tain  side  of  the  Vulture's  Peak.  Bimbisaro,  who, 
throughout  the  long  ministry,  had  been  his  royal  and 
loyal  friend,  was  succeeded  on  the  throne  by  the 
parricide- Ajatasattu.  News  arrived  that  the  King 
of  Kosala  had  almost  wiped  out  the  Sakiya  clan  at 
Kapilavatthu,  Gotamo's  own  people.  An  attack 
upon  his  friends,  the  free  Vajjians,  was  plotted  by 
Ajatasattu,  who  had  the  affrontery  to  ask  his  counsel 
conserning  the  bloody  expedition.  "As  long  as  the 
Vajjians  adhere  to  their  ancient  virtues,"  Buddho 
answered,  "so  long  will  they  prosper."  Then  he 
prepared  to  depart  northward  on  his  last  journey 
by  a  road  which  led  through  the  country  of  the 
beleaguered  Vajjians,  and  beyond  it,  toward  the 
devastated  home  of  his  childhood. 


From  illusions  of  sense  he  had  been  free  longer 
than  most  men  are  born  to  live,  yet  the  love  of 
natural  things  had  never  wholly  died  within  him. 
Calling  together  in  mind  the  scenes  now  to  be  beheld 
no  more,  he  uttered  those  cries  of  human  feeling 
which  the  monks  whom  Revato  knew  still  intoned 
in  their  recitations:  "Ramanlyang  Rajagahang, 
ramaniyo  Gijjha-kuto  pabbato — How  pleasant  is 
Rajagaha!  how  pleasant  the  Vulture's  Peak  Moun 
tain!  pleasant  the  Banyan  tree  of  Gotamo;  how 
pleasant  the  Robbers'  Cliff;  pleasant  the  Sattapanni 
cave  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Vebhara;  pleasant  the 
Black  Rock  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Isigili;  pleasant 
the  mountain  cave  of  the  Serpents'  Pool  in  the 
Sitavana  Grove;  pleasant  the  Tapoda  Grove;  pleas 
ant  the  Squirrels'  Feeding  Ground  in  the  Bambu 
Grove;  pleasant  Jlvako's  Mango  Grove;  pleasant 
the  Deer  Forest  at  Maddakucchi!" 

Dragging  himself  by  slow  stages,  he  crossed  Ganga 
at  Patali  village  where  Sunidho  and  Vassakaro, 
Ajatasattu's  chief  ministers,  were  building  against 
the  Vajjians  an  outpost,  destined  before  Revato's 
time  to  become  the  capital  of  all  India,  and  com 
mitted  himself  to  their  territory.  A  precious  heri 
tage  of  narrative  preserves  the  events  of  the  few 
following  months;  his  many  parting  counsels  and 
consolations  of  his  inner  friendly  circle;  his  artful 
reasoning  to  soothe  the  feelings  of  him  whose  hospi 
tality  was  the  innocent  occasion  of  his  final  sickness. 

Northward  he  labored,  following  the  hot  low-lying 
river  banks,  till  the  glistening  peaks  of  Himavanta 
arose  before  him  and,  upon  the  westward  road  along 
its  foot-hills,  which  led  to  the  old  home,  he  began 
to  feel  reviving  mountain  airs.  But  they  came  too 
late.  Day  by  day  he  felt  the  power  of  death  more 
strongly  upon  him  and  more  welcome  was  the  sur 
render  to  it.  It  had  come  already  to  his  two  chief 
disciples,  for  in  the  month  Kattika,  when  the  moon 
was  at  the  full,  the  Great  Sariputto  died  and  in  the 
dark  of  the  self-same  moon  the  Great  Moggallano 
was  clubbed  to  death  by  robbers  at  the  instigation 
of  Nigantha  ascetics.  "I  too  will  pass  away — in 
Kusinara,"  thought  Bhagava. 

There  was  no  longer  any  strength  to  complete  the 
journey  home,  and  so,  as  it  proved,  he  fell  upon 
parinibbana  in  the  sala  grove  of  the  Mallas  at  Kus 
inara,  on  the  further  side  of  the  river  Hirafifiavati. 

With  light  reflected  from  the  Perfectly  Illumined 
One,  shone  many  lesser  characters  of  olden  Rajagaha, 
men  and  women,  members  of  that  inner  circle  of 
disciples,  companions  of  his  weariness,  who  had 
abandoned  all  to  follow  him.  Some  of  their  person 
alities  were  nearly  as  familiar  to  Revato  as  those  of 
Bharadvajo  and  Kondanno.  There  was  Bhagava 's 
most  intimate  attendant,  whose  devotion  seemed 
almost  worthy  of  the  great  compassionate  nature 
which  evoked  it — Anando,  whose  life  was  like  a 
Spring  day  of  cloud  and  sunshine  mingled — Anando, 
erring  and  backward  in  the  Paths  (consoling  thought 
for  others)  yet  who  alone  of  all  the  brethren  remained 


[14] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


beside  his  Master  in  the  charge  of  the  mad  elephant; 
who,  in  those  last  hours  at  Kusinara,  was  brought 
to  the  bedside  from  weeping  against  the  lintel  of  the 
door;  and  who  in  after  days  looked  back  with  partic 
ular  yearning — 

"Through  five  and  twenty  rains  I  served 
The  Blest  One  while  he  dwelt  apart; 

From  works  of  body  never  swerved 
Nor  works  of  word  nor  works  of  heart. 

"And  when  the  Buddho  wandering  walked 

I,  shadowing,  wandered  far  as  he, 
I  heard  his  wisdom  while  he  talked, 

The  truths  he  uttered  fell  to  me. 

"Alas,  a  learner  still  I  stay 

Who  full  salvation  yet  must  find, 
And  the  Teacher  now  has  passed  away 

Who  so  transcendently  was  kind. 

"When  scattered  ash  my  Comrade  lies 
And  the  Master's  life  has  long  an  end, 

A  charnal,  musing  exercise 

Becomes  my  best  remaining  friend." 

Poor  Anando's  difficulty  in  working  his  way  along 
the  Paths  of  perfection  was  fortunately  not  a  tribu 
lation  common  to  all  believers.  To  others  the 
heroic  life  seemed  so  easy  and  its  fruition  so  con 
sciously  assured!  Witness  Elder  Revato,  of  the  old 
hymn. 

How  marvelous  the  work  that  the  Tathagato  had 
wrought  in  the  world!  How  many  souls  in  ancient 
days  had  found  through  him  that  perfect  peace 
which  still  lived  in  their  rhythmic  exultations!  How 
many  lives  still  were  softened  and  illumined  by  the 
remembered  precepts  of  the  Teacher! 

Into  the  history  of  Magadha,  yes  of  entire  Jam- 
budipa,  and  far  among  the  border  lands,  all  unthink- 
ably  dark  with  cruelty,  he  had  shone  with  beams  of 
pity,  lighting  to  mercy  the  lives  whereon  they  fell. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  superstitious  were 
hastening  to  apotheosize  their  Deliverer.  The  con 
ception  of  him  (however  little  Revato  then  under 
stood  this)was  already  beginning  to  run  a  course  of 
changes  which,  during  many  centuries,  would  pass 
through  peculiar  phases: 

There  was  first  the  man  Gotamo,  of  noble,  but 
not  majestic  birth,  radient  in  his  purity,  his  pity  and 
in  his  wisdom  to  discern  the  heart's  needs.  This  was 
the  Buddho  known  to  them  who  saw  him  face  to 
face  and  to  those  of  later  years  who,  like  Revato, 
could  read  between  the  lines  of  legend. 

But  the  Oriental  can  neither  admire  without 
dazzle  nor  express  without  hyperbole.  Hardly  had 
the  sage  passed  away  when  he  was  exalted  to  royal 
station  and  endowed  with  every  transcendent  quality 
of  the  ideal  prince.  Not  alone  was  he  given  the 
attributes  of  a  contemporary  raja,  but  he  was 
traced  to  former  incarnations  as  a  Great  King  of 
Glory,  a  Universal  Monarch  of  the  Golden  Age, 
with  possessions  manifold  those  of  the  most  opulent 
living  potentate. 

It  was  an  easy  transition  from  a  worshipful  king  to 
a  worshipped  god.  Buddho  had  degraded  the  Hindu 


deities  to  impotent  demi-gods  and  had  discouraged 
inquiry  concerning  a  First  Cause;  the  god  on  whom 
he  taught  dependence  was  that  abstract  divinity, 
Law. 

But  since  men,  and  women  especially,  insist  on 
looking  to  some  helpful  Personality  outside  of 
themselves,  and  since  their  enlightened  Master  em 
bodied  all  of  such  personal  helpfulness  that  they  knew, 
it  was  inevitable  that  they  should  deify  him,  so 
amending  his  doctrines  as  to  prove  that  he  had  not 
yet  ceased  to  exist.  This  third  stage  of  the  Buddho 
conception  was  being  felt  after  by  some  in  Revato's 
time.  Thus  was  the  human  Buddho  transformed 
into  the  Royal  and  into  the  Divine  Buddho. 

The  fourth  conception — if  a  prophetic  anachro 
nism  may  be  allowed — was  the  metaphysical  Buddho 
to  be  dreamed  of  especially  in  distant  Japan — an  idea 
farthest  of  all  removed  from  the  historical  one,  yet 
elevated  above  the  intervening  superstitions  to  a 
high  philosophical  beauty.  He  is  the  Reality  behind 
the  Ideal  universe — 

"/  live  within  material  forms  of  flesh, 
But  when  /  was  not,  Self  was  ever  there, 
For  Self  is  Buddha." 

"Year  after  year  the  annual  flowers  bloom 
Upon  the  bush  uninterruptedly. 
Thus  Buddha  lives  unchanged;  but  we  that  are 
But  shows  and  shadows  of  the  Inner  Soul 
Bud,  bloom  and  die  as  changing  years  roll  on." 

This,  however,  is  not  the  faith  in  which  mankind 
will  rest.  "The  human  heart  is  a  great  glutton"; 
moreover  we  are  helplessly  dependent.  There  is 
still  another  course  which  the  doctrine  took,  a  by 
path  from  the  main  road  of  development.  Some 
reach  out  toward  a  Pure  Land,  a  Western  Paradise, 
where  Amida  Buddho  shall  bring  unimpaired  the 
souls  which  entrust  themselves  to  him — 

"I  take  no  rope  in  my  unskillful  hands 
Nor  labor  at  the  oar  to  cross  the  stream. 
The  Boatman  whom  I  trust  will  row  me  o'er 
To  the  safe  haven  of  the  Shore  Beyond."* 

PRESENCE — THE  EMPIRE  OF  PEACE 

— But  to  revert.  After  the  Great  Sage's  death, 
his  cremation  and  the  distribution  of  his  relics  to 
eight  suppliant  kings  and  clans,  his  disciples  returned 
to  Rajagaha  where  they  held  the  famous  first 
ecumenical  council  in  front  of  the  Sattipanni  cave 
on  the  slope  of  Mt.  Vebhara,  probating,  so  to  speak, 
his  testament,  by  reciting,  as  each  could  remember, 
the  precious  legacies  of  teaching  which  he  had 
bequeathed. 

The  freedom-loving  Vajjians  eventually  suc 
cumbed  to  the  spread  of  empire  and,  within  less 
than  a  hundred  vassas  after  Buddho's  death,  their 
conquered  city,  Vesali  of  the  Licchavis,  succeeded 

*These  three  stanzas  from  the  Japanese  are  in  the  version 
of  the  late  Rev.  Arthur  Lloyd.  I  understand  that  he  attributed 
the  Pure  Land  cult  to  early  Christian  influences.  In  the 
Idealistic  philosophy  we  seem  to  find  the  Vedanta. 


[IS] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


Rajagaha  as  the  capital  of  Magadha.  Within 
another  reign  the  throne  was  moved  to  Pataliputta, 
city  of  the  Trumpet  Flower  Sons.  Before  the  end  of 
the  second  century,  the  kingdom  had  attained  truly 
imperial  power  in  Jambudipa.  It  was  further  ex 
tended  by  the  adventurer  Candagutto,  who  estab 
lished  in  dominion  the  Moriya,  Peacock,  dynasty. 
He  it  was  who  beat  back  the  fair-skinned  Yonas 
that  had  settled  in  the  border  countries  from  the 
days  of  the  invader  Alasando  and  established  his 
own  government  over  their  colonies.  While  he 
subdued  their  arms,  their  arts  and  sciences  continued 
to  creep  into  his  domain  but  were  more  than  returned 
in  deeper  philosophies  which  they  embraced.  It  was 
not  the  proud,  active  Yavana  whose  spirit  gained  the 
mastery,  but  the  meek,  passive  Ariya. 

As  is  always  the  case,  the  inhabitants  of  Jambudipa 
had  to  pay  well  for  their  pride  or  acquiescence  in 
imperial  magnitude  and  power.  What  with  heavy 
land  rents,  irrigating  water  rates,  tithes  on  commer 
cial  transactions  and  other  imposts,  collected  often 
under  penalty  of  death  for  dodging,  taxes  became 
the  chief  part  of  their  lives. 

Now  the  birth  of  Candagutto's  grandson,  Asoko 
Vaddhano,  was  like  the  coming  of  a  second  Buddho 
who  would  be  to  the  social  world  what  Gotamo  had 
been  to  the  world  of  individuals.  His  goodness  was 
not  by  nature,  however,  for  when  he  came  to  the 
throne  he  was  called  Asoko  the  Wicked.  In  the 
ninth  year  of  his  reign  he  subjugated  the  Kalinga 
countries,  on  the  eastern  coast  of  the  south.  He 
did  not  conduct  his  campaign  according  to  those 
most  merciful  practices  of  Aryan  warfare  which 
might  leave  the  husbandmen  tilling  their  fields 
unmolested  while  battle  waged  around  them,  but 
he  tore  from  hermitages  even  holy  samanas.  Abuses 
of  this  war,  with  its  usages  hardly  better,  wrought 
in  the  monarch  a  remorse  which  drove  him  for  refuge 
to  the  doctrines  of  the  merciful  Buddho,  and  he 
became  thenceforth  a  King  of  Peace.  While  the 
religion  had  lost  much  of  its  early  purity,  it  had 
become  so  diffused  among  the  people  as  to  temper 
them  to  a  mildness  of  conduct  never  before  known, 
and  now,  when  endorsed  by  the  State,  its  influence 
for  good  became  incalculable. 

Asoko's  long  reign,  after  his  conversion,  was  spent 
not  only  in  establishing  the  forms  of  the  Dhamma 
religion  and  endowing  it  with  costly  edifices  and 
carved  stones,  but  in  acting  its  spirit.  He  who  once, 
it  was  sa^d,  had  maintained  a  torture  chamber  to 
inflict  on  miserable  creatures,  human  and  animal, 
the  torments  of  hell  in  similitude,  now  planted  trees 
and  dug  roadside  wells  far  and  wide  for  their  com 
fort  and  fixed  dispensaries  of  medicaments  appropri 
ate  to  man  and  beast.  If  his  demands  were  still  large 
toward  those  who  had,  his  benevolences  were  great 
toward  those  who  had  not.  Munificent  as  were  his 
public  alms,  no  one  could  tell  the  extent  of  his 
bounties,  for  he  was  an  outspoken  advocate  of  secret 
charities.  His  zeal  to  spread  the  saving  Truth  knew 
no  sovereign  limitations;  "All  men,"  he  said,  "are 


my  children. "  His  missionaries  crossed  the  southern 
seas  to  Tambapannidlpa  and  passed  far  beyond 
Himavanta  to  the  hindermost  regions  of  the  world, 
where  the  desirous  Yonas  worship  their  lustful  gods, 
rear  beautiful  cities  of  illusion,  and  store  up  bad 
Kamma  against  the  suffering  ages  of  the  future. 

Asoko — Sorrowless — he  might  not  truly  be,  for 
contrition  and  sympathy  were  strong  in  him,  but 
he  gave  all  his  heart  to  following  the  way  that  leads 
to  the  cessation  of  sorrow.  As  Devanam-Piyo 
Piyadassi  Raja — The  Devas'  Darling,  His  Majesty 
the  King — he  might  appear  before  the  world  in 
proud  rock-graven  edicts,  but,  being  no  lukewarm 
believer,  he  personally  submitted  to  the  laws  of  a 
lay  disciple  and  later  of  an  ordained  mendicant  in  the 
Sangha. 

Asoko's  conversion  had  taken  place  longer  ago 
than  Revato  could  remember;  hence  he  had  always 
lived  in  an  environment  of  peace  and  good  will. 
True,  the  charities  of  the  royal  family  were  rarely 
needed  to  relieve  starvation;  famines  were  rare  in 
Magadha,  with  its  twice-yearly  harvests.  Religious 
prosecution  had  been  little  known  among  the  Ariyas 
and  hardly  was  a  check  upon  violence  now  re 
quired,  but  Piyadassi  went  beyond  toleration,  in 
spiring  the  disputing  secretaries  to  mutual  esteem. 
His  subjects,  whether  Buddhist,  Brahmin  or  Jaina, 
were  all  recipients  of  favor,  and  if  he  was  chiefly 
zealous  for  that  religion  which  he  believed  to  be 
true,  he  could  still  dedicate  magnificent  cave  dwell 
ings  to  the  use  of  others.  At  one  point,  however,  he 
hesitated.  The  Brahmins,  in  their  festivals  to  their 
gods,  had  been  wont  to  massacre  numbers  of  horses, 
sheep,  goats,  swine  and  other  living  creatures,  per 
forming  their  rites  not  merely  with  flowers  and  per 
fumes,  but  with  gory  carcasses.  These  practices 
he  discouraged,  since  he  would  not  condone  murder 
under  the  cloak  of  religion.  Further  he  minimized 
the  slaughter  of  animals  for  food,  decreeing  for 
example,  that  no  peacock  or  antelope  should  be  put 
to  death  at  the  Capital. 

Mutterings  of  discontent  at  this  tenderness  of 
heart  should  have  been  disarmed  by  knowledge  that 
he  had  limited  the  deaths  of  living  creatures  for  his 
own  table  and  finally  had  abandoned  that  butchery 
altogether.  Along  with  the  slaughter  of  animals,  the 
King  had  suppressed  a  certain  offensive  holiday 
feast  at  Pataliputta,  and  though  he  was  not  opposed 
to  public  gaities  of  the  right  sort,  yet  the  popular 
amusements  were  generally  attended  with  so  many 
evils  that  his  influence  acted  to  curtail  their  number 
and  license.  Among  many  of  his  subjects,  this 
restraint  bitterly  counted  for  more  than  all  his 
beneficence. 

A  growing  disuse  of  cruel  punishments  in  Jambu 
dipa  was  lessening  human  pain  to  an  inestimable 
extent.  If  still  torture  was  employed  in  criminal 
process,  and  corporal  penalties  imposed,  it  was  only 
of  seeming  necessity  for  the  ends  of  justice,  restricted 
in  various  ways  by  Asoko's  command,  and  grievous 
in  any  case  to  his  spirit.  It  was  limited  to  the 


16] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


purlieus  of  crime,  and  the  quiet  citizen,  not  to 
mention  the  monk,  dwelt  secure  from  arbitrary 
molestation.  At  Rajagaha  were  old  men  who,  in 
their  prime,  had  lost  hands  and  feet,  noses  and  ears 
and  lingered  as  object  lessons  by  which  the  younger 
generation  might  know  that  the  present  rarity  of 
such  cruelties  was  not  according  to  the  custom  of 
the  world.  But  man  is  so  unreflecting  that  if,  by  some 
contingency,  his  day  be  clear  and  cool,  he  forgets 
that  stifling  rain  ever  falls  or  sunshine  ever  scorches 
and  kills.  Only  those  who,  like  Revato,  cast  their 
thoughts  afar  told  themselves  that  the  life  around 
them — 

"Griin  das  Gefilde,  fruchtbar;  Mensch  und  Herde 
Sogleich  behaglich  auf  der  neusten  Erde" — 

was  just  a  paradisian  dream  in  the  world's  night. 

THE   CREEPER  OF  CRAVING 

As  the  guards  that  had  surrounded  the  happy 
home  of  the  young  Gotamo  had  been  powerless  to 
exclude  sorrow,  so,  in  the  delicate  immunities  of 
Revato's  surroundings,  was  no  effective  barrier  to 
gloom  and  fear. 

A  minor  note  truly  was  resonant  in  the  hushed 
sounds  of  Rajagaha.  With  regal  glories  gone  afar, 
it  had  sunken  into  a  mellow  decadence.  While  its 
environs  were  increasingly  populous  with  holy  men 
and  women  intent  on  discipline  and  contemplation, 
the  chief  secular  inhabitants  were  old  families  like 
that  of  Revato's  mother,  reduced,  but  still  tacitly 
proud  and  clinging  to  their  ground  like  seamed 
weather-worn  rocks  on  the  mountain  side.  In  many 
of  them  might  have  been  traced  a  particular  sequence 
of  character  development  down  the  generations. 
With  abilities  inherited  from  ancient,  rough,  liberty- 
loving  clansmen,  the  vassals  of  the  Serpent  Kings 
in  Gotamo's  day  had  become  successful  and  luxur 
ious  men  of  the  world.  Thus,  from  vigor  had  grown 
culture,  refining  if  divitalizing.  As  royalty  passed 
away  and  the  new  puritanic  religion  spread,  culture 
was  chastened  into  modest  dignity,  self-restraint  and 
stern  virtue.  There  were  moral  giants  in  those  days. 
But  harsh  parents  make  kind  children;  the  oncoming 
generations  were  subdued  in  spirit,  and,  while  clear 
in  conduct  as  their  fathers  had  been,  they  were 
tempered  with  exquisite  mildness  and  tolerance. 
The  old  stocks  were  then  near  to  running  out.  Bud- 
dho's  principles,  hostile  to  fecundity,  operated  not  in 
the  monastic  order  alone.  The  Paths  pointed  to  by 
his  precepts  tended,  even  in  the  household  life,  to 
racial  Nibbana,  Surcease.  Whether  the  reason  be 
physical  or  spiritual,  in-so-far  as  the  soul  outgrows 
its  brutal  partner,  the  body,  prolificness  wanes,  and 
this  may  be  a  merciful  provision  of  nature,  since 
when  the  mind  becomes  most  highly  organized  and 
sensitive,  its  balance  of  pain  counterweighs  beyond 
endurance.  This  stage  of  dying  agony  in  the  genera 
tions,  to  which  the  phase  of  calm  gentleness  gives 
place,  had  fully  been  reached  in  the  heart  of  Revato. 
From  the  strong  and  wise  and  upright  and  amiable 


men  that  had  preceded  him  at  Giribbaja,  he  had 
received  in  heirship  all  of  their  sorrows,  few  of  their 
joys.  The  keen,  restless  mind  was  his — in  that  he 
might  not  be  their  inferior — and  his  delicacy,  if  not 
consistency,  of  motive  was  a  refinement  upon  their 
honest  instincts.  He  knew  that  he  was  weak  in 
will,  in  the  achieving  will,  yet  fain  he  would  console 
himself  with  a  belief  in  his  power  to  resist  whatsoever 
might  shame  the  noble-hearted  line  that  ended  in 
him. 

That  he  was  to  be  the  end,  had  intuitively  become 
a  conviction  which  every  year  grew  firmer.  In  this 
reflection  there  was  to  him  a  pensive  and  perhaps 
unwholesome  fondness,  not  entirely  due  to  Buddistic 
considerations,  but  arising  in  his  artistic  sensibility. 
It  harmonized  with  the  moribund  solemnity  of 
Rajagaha — a  solemnity  like  the  gloom  within  the 
aisles  of  a  great  spreading  banyan  whereunder,  on 
its  rich,  black  soil  of  decay,  gorgeous  plants  languish 
to  death  as  the  shade  more  densely  enshrouds. 

There  was  a  story  that  one  of  Asoko's  younger 
brothers  (not  Mahindo),  as  he  followed  the  chase  one 
day  and  watched  the  sporting  of  the  deer  in  the 
forest,  had  thought:  "Why  should  not  the  well- 
housed  monks  also  amuse  themselves?"  Thereupon 
Piyadassi  vested  him  with  the  sovereignty  for  seven 
days,  saying  "At  the  end  of  that  time  thou  shalt 
die." — Then,  when  the  period  had  elapsed,  "Why 
art  thou  so  ematiated?"  "From  horror  of  death," 
was  the  answer.  "My  child,"  said  Asoko,  "this 
hath  taught  thee  that  for  them  whose  mind  is  con 
tinually  upon  death  there  can  be  no  diversion." 

In  such  a  memento  mori  was  grounded  the  mind 
of  Revato.  And  yet  there  were  occasions,  rare  in 
deed,  when  it  could  skim  the  ground  lightly  and 
airily  as  a  deer  escaped  from  a  snare. 

Revato  had  gotten  his  education  from  the  monks 
at  Giribbaja  and  at  the  great  University  of  Nalanda, 
so  conveniently  near  his  home  city.  At  first  his 
mother  had  objected  to  his  studies. 

"If  he  learns  writing,"  she  had  protested,  "it  will 
make  his  fingers  sore;  if  arithmetic,  his  breast  will 
become  diseased  by  much  thinking;  if  money 
changing,  his  eyes  will  suffer." 

"But  he  is  delicately  nurtured,"  Bharadvajo  had 
pleaded.  "Unless  he  devotes  himself  to  study  he 
will  be  unable  to  acquire  new  riches  or  augment  the 
riches  he  possesses.  Only  thus  can  he  live  a  life  of 
ease  and  without  pain." 

Of  course  the  arguments  for  learning  had  prevailed, 
when  supported  by  Revato's  own  inclinations. 
Once  started,  there  had  been  little  check  upon 
Revato's  mental  acquisitions  and  his  studies  had 
been  elective. 

When  very  young  he  had  developed  his  memory 
by  learning  long  suttas  from  the  sacred  recitations. 
Few  friars  could  repeat  as  large  a  proportion  of  the 
Canon  as  he.  There  was  at  this  time  a  new  move 
ment  which  advocated  the  commission  of  the  Ti- 
pitika — the  Three  Baskets  of  sacred  lore — to  writing; 
but  that  art,  however  useful  for  inscriptive  and 


[17] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


commercial  purposes,  seemed  ill-adapted  to  preserv 
ing  extensive  works  of  literature  in  their  purity. 
The  most  careful  scribe  would  make  mistakes,  to 
avoid  which  nothing  seemed  so  reliable  as  the 
trained  memory  when  constantly  verified  by  a 
consensus  of  oral  scholarship. 

Revato  had  soon  learned  to  read  and  write  and  to 
use  figures.  He  had  also  dipped  into  many  higher 
studies,  such  as  Poetry,  Music,  Medicine,  Astron 
omy,  Magic,  Causation,  Law,  Conveyancing  and 
Commerce,  with  monks  who  before  their  pabbajja 
had  been  secular  scholars.  One  of  these  happened 
to  know  Navigation  and  Revato  had  dallied  even 
with  this,  for  the  love  of  acquisition,  however  useless 
to  him.  His  linguistic  knowledge  was  considerable, 
although  limited  to  the  related  dialects  of  the  Ariyas. 
Beside  the  Magadhese  he  could  speak  one  or  two 
other  vernaculars,  was  necessarily  proficient  in  Pali, 
the  literary  language  of  his  religion,  and  understood 
Sanskrit  in  its  Vedic  and  Brahmanic,  as  well  as  its 
current  forms. 

Opposition  on  the  part  of  narrow  mentors  like 
Kondanno  had  excluded  him  not  from  the  classics 
of  the  false  old  religion,  neither  from  its  epic 
ballads,  nor  yet  from  its  variant  philosophical  sys 
tems.  All  these,  like  the  fifty-two  heresies  of  his  own 
sect  lately  confuted  in  the  great  work  of  Archbishop 
Tisso,  he  had  found  intensely  interesting,  but  gen 
erally  barren  and  unsettling.  They  proved  nothing, 
but  the  habit  of  pondering  them  loosened  one's  hold 
on  one's  own  faith.  It  is  declared  among  the 
"Enunciations"  of  Buddho  that, 

"There  be  contentious,  quibbling  samanas 
Who  see  the  matter  only  on  one  side," 

but  Revato  had  brought  himself  to  the  point  where 
he  saw  every  matter  on  at  least  two  sides,  to  the 
disadvantage  of  both.  This  disposition  had,  no 
doubt,  been  born  in  him,  but  it  had  grown  by  indul 
gence.  His  conscience  was  not  clear  in  that  regard. 
But  Revato's  gluttonous  mind  had  craved  that 
mysterious  wisdom  to  be  found  nowhere  short  of 
Gandhara.  The  first  major  disappointment  of  his 
life  had  been  the  denial  of  his  desire  to  attend  the 
famous  schools  at  Takkasila  in  that  far  northwestern 

Province  which  had  for  some  time  been  held  by  the 
ronakas  and  was  still  filled  with  their  wonderful, 
mysterious  learning.  The  disappointment  had 
remained  in  him  a  root  of  bitterness  and  had  grown 
up  into  an  habitual  yearning  toward  Yonaloka  with 
its  marvellous  knowledge.  However  laudable  an 
ambition  this  might  seem  in  itself,  it  became  in  him 
a  source  of  morbid  discontent,  the  bane  of  which  he 
realized.  This  was  why,  when  later  he  was  free  to 
go  and  once  had  actually  set  out  for  Takkasila,  he 
turned  back  after  a  day  or  two  of  brooding  and 
struggle  with  himself  in  the  loneliness  of  the  crowded 
road.  The  craving  in  that  direction  however  was  not 
destroyed  and  was  the  underlying  reason  why  he  had 
sought  the  custom-house  appointment.  Outwardly, 
that  event  was  brought  about  as  follows: 


While  Revato  was  an  infant,  the  glorious  zealot 
Mahindo,  younger  brother  of  Asoko,  had  come  to 
dwell  as  a  hermit  in  that  selfsame  cavern  on  Gijjha- 
kuto  once  occupied  by  Gotamo.  Here  he  had  been 
in  near  fellowship  with  the  Venerable  Ajjuko, 
Revato's  grandfather,  and  had  stooped  to  kindly 
notice  of  the  child  on  more  than  one  occasion,  now 
faintly  remembered.  Subsequently,  the  eremitic 
prince  had  removed  to  Pataliputta  and  lived  in  an 
artificial  cell  on  a  stone  hill,  which  his  royal  brother 
built  for  him  to  resemble  the  Vulture's  Peak.  Not 
long  after  that,  the  great  Church  Council  at  Patali 
putta  had  commissioned  him  to  preach  the  Sad- 
dhamma  on  Tambapannidipa,  the  far  distant  Island 
of  Lanka,  and  he  had  sailed  forth  upon  the  great  ocean 
to  be  followed  later  by  Asoko's  daughter  Sangha- 
mitta  bearing  a  slip  from  the  sacred  Wisdom  Tree 
at  Uruvela.  Before  leaving  Magadha  he  had 
secured  from  his  royal  brother  a  promise  of  future 
preferment  for  Ajjuko's  grandson,  Revato. 

Now  the  peace  and  liberality  of  Asoko's  reign  had 
wrought  no  general  reduction  of  taxation,  but  only 
an  attempt  to  check  its  abuses  and  to  apply  its  pro 
ceeds  to  good  ends.  Of  old  times,  before  the  little 
states  of  Jambudlpa  had  been  consolidated,  their 
foreign  customs  were  an  important  source  of  revenue. 
With  the  obliteration  of  boundary  lines  and  far 
removal  of  frontiers,  internal  revenues,  such  as  land 
taxes  and  tithes  on  trade,  had  risen  to  paramount 
importance.  Still,  the  old  custom  house  at  Rajagaha 
was  kept  open  to  take  toll  of  passing  caravans.  Its 
receipts  were  small  compared  with  those  in  the  days 
when  that  city  was  still  metropolis  and  capital,  and 
competition  for  the  receivership  was  not  so  sharp  as 
of  yore.  Travelers  through  Rajagaha  now  were 
mostly  pilgrims  to  Uruvela  or  friars  whose  holy 
poverty  exempted  them  from  demand  and  search — 
an  immunity  which  had  been  abused  in  certain 
cases  as  the  Canon  Law  recorded.  By  reason,  how 
ever,  of  the  occasional  foreign  caravans  which  still 
halted  at  the  office,  it  was  a  point  of  informatory 
contact  between  Rajagaha  and  Yonaloka.  This 
was  the  insidious  thought  which  came  to  Revato  when 
he  learned  that  the  long-time  incumbent  of  the 
office  was  about  to  retire  and  assume  the  yellow 
robe.  He  strove  to  banish  the  thought,  but  suc 
ceeded  only  in  obscuring  it  by  other  considerations. 
So  he  nerved  himself  to  solicit  a  redemption  of  the 
king's  ancient  pledge.  It  is  doubtful  if  Revato 
would  actually  have  gone  to  Pataliputta  for  the 
purpose,  but  it  occurred  (in  retribution  for  his 
yielding  to  desire  in  some  former  life,  he  afterwards 
thought)  that  about  this  time  Asoko  came  on  a 
pilgrimage  to  Giribbaja.  Revato  arranged  to  be  in 
waiting  with  his  friends  on  the  Vulture's  Peak  where 
he  could  present  himself  in  audience  under  easy  and 
favorable  conditions. 

With  whatever  embarrassment  Revato  entered 
Piyadassi's  presence,  it  was  immediately  transformed 
from  the  cringing  before  Majesty  to  a  spiritual  awe 


[18] 


THE          LAYMAN         REVATO 


before  Holiness.  At  first  the  Darling  of  the  Devas 
failed  to  recall  his  promise. 

"Now  we,  friend,"  he  said,  "who  be  called  kings, 
are  very  busy  and  have  many  duties.  If  we  had 
promised  we  could  not  remember.  Pray  refresh  our 
memory." 

Here  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo  interposed  with 
details  which  he  could  supply  as  Revato  could  not 
and  which  gave  the  necessary  clue. 

"I  remember  that  which  my  lord  hath  indicated," 
answered  Asoko  and  immediately  granted  Revato's 
petition,  bidding  him  arrange  matters  at  pleasure. 
In  the  manner  of  bestowal  there  was  a  shadowy 
quality  of  pitying  unsympathy,  as  from  one  whose 
mind  is  occupied  with  business  of  a  deeper  nature, 
and  Revato  felt  shame. 

Thus  at  the  start  his  air  castles  were  thinned,  and 
they  were  soon  to  be  dissolved.  His  concealed  desire 
to  look  into  the  imagined  rich  life  of  the  Yonaka 
peoples  miserably  failed,  for  he  found  the  language 
of  commerce  inadequate  to  exchange  other  than  the 
most  sordid  ideas  with  the  foreign  merchants  that 
stopped  to  pay  duty,  if  indeed  they  were  cognizant 
of  higher  things,  which  their  deportment  failed  to 
reveal.  In  various  ways,  this  enlargement  of  Reva 
to's  life,  instead  of  brightening  the  world  for  him, 


only  increased  his  opportunities  of  unhappiness. 
Four  years  now  had  elapsed  since  the  appointment 
and  every  day  his  burden  had  been  growing  heavier. 
The  culminating  detail  of  his  distress  was  that  which 
he  had  just  revealed  to  the  monks  on  the  Vulture's 
Peak. 

The  lady  Sundarl,  who  awaited  Revato's  return 
that  evening,  knew  of  his  intended  journey  to  Patali- 
putta,  though  she  did  not  know  the  reason.  Before 
he  retired  for  the  night,  she  handed  him  a  little 
gem-like  object  which  he  had  never  seen  before, 
saying: 

"This  would  be  yours  some  day,  Revato,  and 
while  we  are  apart  it  is  safer  in  your  possession  than 
mine,  for  your  life  is  younger  and  more  secure.  Take 
it  as  a  talisman  if  you  will,  and  see  where  it  guides 
you." 

When  Revato  lighted  a  lamp  and  examined  the 
gem,  he  found  it  to  be  made  of  dark  stone  with  relief 
work  carved  from  white  stone,  and  seemingly  all  in 
one  piece.  It  was  of  foreign  workmanship,  beyond 
the  skill  of  any  lapidary  in  Magadha,  clever  as  they 
were,  and  it  showed  a  woman,  in  flowing  robes, 
holding  a  small  stringed  musical  instrument,  some 
thing  like  a  parivadini  lute. 


CHAPTER  III 
IN  THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  BUDDHO 


FELLOW  TRAVELERS 

The  morning  on  which  Revato  set  out  for  the 
Capital  to  do  the  thing  that  seemed  to  him  just  fell 
in  the  season  of  dry  air  which  follows  the  oppressive 
Autumn  rains.  The  ploughmen  and  sowers  worked 
lustily  and  even  the  washermen  beating  their  clothes 
on  flat  stones  in  the  brooks  thumped  with  unusual 
alacrity  as  they  chewed  their  betel-nut.  The  hills 
that  Revato  left  behind  him  were  covered  with  sere 
leaves  torn  off  by  the  storms — Buddho's  own  symbol 
of  the  excommunicated  brother  who  has  committed 
the  mortal  sin  of  dishonesty — but  fresh  greenage  had 
already  usurped  their  places  and  the  roadside  was 
voluptuous  with  blossoms. 

Revato  traveled  in  an  unpretentious  wagon  drawn 
by  a  yoke  of  bullocks  from  his  farm,  which  were 
driven  by  a  retainer  Pilindavaccho,  of  the  Sudda 
color.  His  spirit  favored  this  happy  mean  between 
a  pretentious  hired  elephant  and  the  self-locomotion 
of  the  mendicants.  When,  on  rare  occasions,  he 
had  himself  conveyed  the  customs  receipts  to  the 
royal  treasury,  he  had  provided  a  more  elaborate 
outfit,  but  now  he  preferred  to  typify  that  renuncia 
tion  which  in  his  mind  was  already  a  fact  accom 
plished.  Incidentally,  the  plainer  his  equipage  the 
less  his  hazard  of  highwaymen  who  still  infested 
certain  forests  through  which  the  road  passed. 


They  were  worthy  successors  to  robber  Angulimalo, 
of  Buddho's  time,  who,  as  implied  by  this  acquired 
name,  wore  a  necklace  of  knuckle  joints,  even  after 
his  conversion  and  ordination,  until  required  to  put 
off  that  ornament,  owing  to  the  alarm  which  it 
aroused. 

After  passing,  almost  at  the  outset,  through  the 
new  city  of  Rajagaha,  Revato  continued  northward 
along  the  great  highway  hallowed  by  the  last  journey 
of  the  Tathagato.  The  foothills  and  upland  fell  off 
toward  the  lowlands  of  Ganga  valley  where  the 
jungle  was  cleared  up  into  fields  of  paddy,  barley, 
sugar-cane  and  pot  herbs,  irrigated  by  extensive 
reservoir  and  canal  systems,  now  overflowing. 
Water  was  no  luxury  at  this  season  and  the  fords  of 
the  swollen  rivers  were  precarious. 

Revato  soon  overtook  a  caravan  of  three  hundred 
ox-carts  stretching  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  along 
the  road.  They  were  jolting  forward  about  half  as 
fast  as  a  man  could  walk,  and  he  soon  passed  them. 
He  had  had  official  dealings  with  them  the  day 
before  and  the  leading  trader  greeted  him  with  a 
sullen  face.  The  merchants  in  another  caravan, 
which  he  met  traveling  southward,  extended  a 
friendlier  recognition. 

Numerous  were  the  religious  men  of  all  cults — 
Deva-worshipping  Brahmin  pandits,  versed  in  the 

19] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


three  Vedas,  and  various  sects  of  Paribbajakas, 
Wanderers,  whether  orthodox  Brahminists  or  hereti 
cal  Ajivakas,  Nigantha  yatis  and  Sakiyaputtiya 
samanas.  These  last-mentioned,  the  Buddhist 
friars,  were  many  of  them  pilgrims  to  or  from 
Uruvela,  the  site  of  Gotamo's  Salvation,  whereto 
one  of  the  main  roads  led  southwestward  through 
Rajagaha. 

He  had  not  ridden  more  than  an  hour  when  he 
espied  ahead  of  him  the  woven  mat  sunshades  of  his 
two  clerical  friends,  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo  and 
Kondanno  who  had  made  an  earlier  start  than  he. 
After  a  peripatetic  and  wholesome  life,  Venerable 
Bharadvajo's  eighty  years  were  little  obstacle  to  his 
progress  as  a  traveler.  These  gamiko  bhikkhus, 
traveling  mendicants,  were  little  hampered  by 
impedimenta  though  carrying  with  them,  beside 
the  parasols,  their  entire  individual  possessions,  the 
three  robes,  girdle,  bowl,  razor,  needle  and  water- 
strainer.  Withal,  the  decency  of  their  attire  might 
have  put  to  shame  many  of  the  other  wandering 
ascetics. 

Revato  dismounted  respectfully  from  his  wagon 
saying:  "Kldisang  bhavanta — How  are  you,  sirs?" 

"So  after  a  night's  rest,  avuso,"  said  Bharadvajo 
sadly,  "you  have  risen  no  wiser,  but  are  determined 
to  go  to  Pataliputta!" 

"Yes  bhante,  I  must  follow  the  Dhamma.  And 
what  is  the  Dhamma  is  for  me?  I  must  be  a  lamp 
unto  myself." 

"There  can  be  no  true  Dhamma,"  said  Kondanno, 
"but  what  is  found  in  the  recitations — the  Vinaya, 
the  Sutta  and  the  Abhidhamma,  nor  is  anything 
there  lacking." 

"You  filled  your  bowls  early,  bhavanta,"  re 
marked  Revato,  to  the  friars. 

"They  have  not  yet  been  filled,"  answered  Venera 
ble  Bharadvajo;  "we  shall  reach  Nalanda  in  time  to 
gather  the  meal  and  eat  it  before  the  midday  sun 
casts  a  shadow." 

"Will  you  not  get  in  and  ride  with  me,  bhavanta?" 

Venerable  Kondanno  looked  compliant,  but  was 
forced  to  smother  his  chagrin  when  Venerable 
Bharadvajo  answered: 

"Nay,  it  is  unlawful,  as  thou  knowest,  for  samanas 
to  ride  in  a  vehicle  when  they  are  not  ill." 

"Then  I  will  walk  along  with  you,"  said  Revato, 
but  as  the  old  man  quietly  forbade  it,  he  remounted 
the  wagon  and  let  Pilindavaccho  take  advantage  of 
a  smooth  spot  in  the  road  by  urging  the  oxen  into  a 
trot.  Not^ar  behind,  followed  the  mendicants  with 
a  mechanical,  swinging  stride  acquired  by  long 
wanderings. 

After  a  little  while,  Revato  overtook  two  other 
wandering  ascetics.  They  were  ill-looking  creatures; 
their  skin  showed  where  their  hair  had  been  violently 
pulled  out  and  their  appearance  was  like  dry  wood 
on  the  river  bank.  These  were  yatis,  as  the  ascetics 
of  the  Nigantha,  or  Jaina  order  were  called.  He 
invited  them  to  ride  with  him  and  they  manifested 
by  silence  their  consent. 


As  they  told  him,  they  were  called  Digho  and 
Nathaputto,  famous  names  from  his  point  of  view, 
being  the  same  borne  by  two  old-time  members  of 
their  order,  whose  defeat  in  a  controversy  with 
Gotamo  is  a  part  of  church  history.  Themselves 
were  inveterate  wranglers  and  soon  they  involved 
Revato  in  polemic  from  which  temperamentally  he 
was  not  averse. 

"Tata — my  dear  fellow" — inquired  Digho,  "how 
do  you  adherents  of  the  Samana  Gotamo  classify 
the  various  punishments?" 

"Reverend  Sir,"  answered  Revato,  "we  who  fol 
low  the  Dhamma  are  not  accustomed  to  speak  of 
punishments  as  the  basis  of  our  system;  we  proceed 
rather  from  the  idea  of  Kamma — deed,  conduct, 
character,  though  perhaps  this  leads  to  the  same 
thing,  for  conduct  is  the  warrant  of  penalty.  So  I 
will  not  quarrel  with  you  about  it,  although  our 
system  seems  to  be  better  expressed." 

"Well  then,"  rejoined  Digho,  "how  many  ways  do 
you  recognize  of  performing  bad  deeds." 

"We  recognize,"  said  Revato,  "three  ways — by 
act,  speech,  and  thought." 

"Which  kind  of  bad  deeds  do  you  consider  the 
worst,"  asked  Nathaputto,  "those  of  the  body,  the 
tongue  or  the  mind?" 

"Those  of  the  mind,"  Revato  answered  promptly. 

"There  you  are  in  error,"  replied  Nathaputto,  and 
he  added  many  words  to  prove  it. 

"Which  form  of  punishment,  bhante,  do  you 
regard  as  the  most  severe?"  asked  Revato  by  way  of 
counter-interrogatory,  "chastisement  of  the  body, 
chastisement  by  word  or  chastisement  of  the  mind?" 

"Chastisement  of  the  body,"  answered  Nathaput 
to,  "Which  do  you,  avuso?" 

"Frankly,  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Revato,  "for  I  lack 
experience  by  which  to  compare  them.  Of  mental 
suffering  I  know  much,  but  of  physical  suffering 
little.  The  former  I  have  proven  that  I  can  bear; 
there  are  degrees  of  the  latter  which  I  do  not  see  how 
I  could  endure.  But  he  alone  that  has  borne  them 
both  to  the  uttermost  has  the  right  to  judge  the 
question." 

Perceiving  how  fair-mindedly  Revato  discussed 
the  differences  between  him  and  them,  the  Niganthas 
were  dampened  in  their  controversial  ardor  and 
turned  to  lighter  subjects  of  remark.  They  were 
bound  for  Pataliputta,  they  told  him,  to  attend 
upon  the  Prince  Dasaratho,  grandson  of  Piyadassi 
and  heir  to  the  throne.  Against  the  king  they  railed 
with  virulence. 

"He  orders  us  disciples  of  Maha-viro  the  Jino  and 
you  Sakiyaputtlyas  to  love  each  other,"  snarled 
Digho,  "but  you  receive  the  favors.  He  builds 
abbeys  for  you  with  the  confiscatory  taxes  that  we 

Eay,  while  we  have  to  build  our  own.  Even  the 
inatical  Ajivakas  get  some  of  his  largesse,  but  we 
nothing.  After  his  perversion  to  your  Dhamma  by 
Upagutto,  whom  he  made  pontiff,  he  placed  himself 
at  that  rascal's  beck  and  call  to  squander  vast  sums 
in  building  monumental  thupas  over  the  charred 


[20] 


THE          LAYMAN         REVATO 


bones  of  your  'arahats.'  The  king  in  his  dotage  is 
crazier  than  ever.  He  continues  to  crave  his  own 
praises  on  pillars  and  to  scratch  every  roadside 
rock  with  fussy  laws  on  matters  with  which  a  secular 
ruler  has  no  concern.  Have  Niganthas  then  no 
rights?  Was  power  wrested  from  the  Brahmins  for 
Sakiyaputtiyas  above  all  others? — But  this  will  not 
last  forever.  We  will  not  always  be  dispised  out- 
castes."  The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  canny  tone. 

"It  is  only  truth  that  wounds."  Revato  was 
aware  that,  in  this  diatribe,  exaggerated  though  it 
was,  against  that  majestic  person  whom  he  revered 
next  to  the  Blessed  One,  the  weaknesses  of  an  other 
wise  strong  character  were  skillfully  exposed.  The 
layman  was  angry  and  he  retorted: 

"Dubbimta — you  villians! — What  you  squirm 
under  is  Piyadassi's  censorship  of  morals.  You 
Niganthas  in  old  time  murdered  the  Venerable  Maha 
Moggallano  and  now  I  dare  say  you  lie  in  wait  to 
assassinate  the  King  because  his  goodness  puts  to 
shame  your  depravity.  Come  now,  tell  me  why  you 
are  on  the  road  toward  the  Capital." 

However  little  of  this  accusation  Revato  meant,  or 
assumed  to  mean,  it  strained  his  diplomatic  relations 
with  the  Jainas  beyond  the  yield-point.  Muttering, 
the  two  wanderers  quitted  his  carriage  and  his 
company. 

At  Nalanda,  where  Revato  soon  arrived,  the 
Blessed  One  had  tarried  on  his  final  wandering,  in 
the  Pavarika  mango  grove.  Here  he  had  repeated 
those  vital  words  which,  as  he  went  from  place  to 
place,  he  uttered  with  the  repetition  of  old  age: 
"Fruitful  is  reason  if  it  be  girt  with  revery,  fruitful 
is  revery  if  it  be  girt  with  righteousness.  Reason 
thus  guarded  can  destroy  the  great  evils — lust  and 
self,  delusion  and  ignorance." 

Not  far  from  here  the  Thera  Sariputto  had  been 
born  and  here  he  had  passed  out  of  the  world. 
A  magnificent  thupa  now  marked  the  spot  where 
his  body  had  gone  up  in  flames.  A  large  and  ornate 
abbey  had  lately  been  erected  here  by  Asoko  who 
had  convoked  to  it  a  thousand  of  the  most  learned 
Buddhist  sages.  Their  fame  was  attracting  disciples 
from  far  and  near,  so  that  this  was  becoming  a 
university  rivalling  Takkasila  and  second  to  none 
for  instruction  in  sacred  literature. 

At  one  of  Piyadassi's  pleasant,  shady  rest  houses 
near  the  town  gate,  Revato  stopped,  intending  to 
wait  while  Pilindavaccho  prepared  a  meal  with  the 
kitchen  facilities  provided  there  by  hospitable 
citizens.  It  was  not  long  before  he  espied  arriving 
the  comrade  friars,  Venerable  Bharadvajo  and  Ven 
erable  Kondanno. 

They  intended  to  visit  the  sangharama  where 
Kondanno  had  in  mind  to  expound  the  Law  to  the 
erudite  doctors  and  convince  them  thus  and  so  by 
his  reasoning.  First,  however,  our  two  pilgrims 
must  collect  their  day's  meal  from  the  local  house 
holders,  then,  without  delay,  they  would  proceed  to 
the  monastery  and  finish  eating  it  before  noon. 
Kondanno  suggested  that  they  avail  themselves  of 


the  supply  of  rice  provided  for  travelers  at  the  rest 
house,  but  Bharadvajo  discouraged  this  lazy  method. 

"Through  which  side  of  the  town  will  you  pass 
for  alms,  bhante?"  asked  Kondanno  of  Bharadvajo. 
"The  well-to-do  people,  you  know,  inhabit  the 
eastern  part." 

"Then  I  will  take  the  western,"  answered  Bharad 
vajo.  "The  Blessed  One  instructed  us  not  to  dis 
criminate  between  the  gifts  of  rich  and  poor,  so 
when  one  or  the  other  must  be  chosen  it  should  be 
the  worse." 

"Since  you  so  prefer,"  answered  Kondanno  with 
resignation,  "I  will  consent  to  follow  the  east  side." 

It  was  decided  that  the  monks,  instead  of  pro 
ceeding  with  their  meal  to  the  monastery  grounds, 
should  return  to  eat  it  in  company  with  Revato. 
Straightway  each  removed  his  sandals  and,  after 
knocking  off  the  dust,  slung  them  in  a  bag  over  his 
shoulder;  thus  prepared,  they  entered  the  town. 

Ere  long,  each  came  in  with  his  pindapata  of  food. 
Kondanno's  bowl  was  heaped  with  sweet  rice,  fruit 
curry,  cucumbers  and  delicious  honied  meal  cake, 
while  in  Bharadvajo's  was  only  some  sour  husk 
porridge  in  which  swam  a  little  bran  loaf  and  much 
dirt. 

The  suggestion  came  from  Revato  that  all  three 
should  divide  their  lunch,  share  and  share  alike, 
the  partition  plan  being  quite  in  accord  with  custom 
among  the  monks.  Bharadvajo  would  not  agree  to 
it,  though  when  Kondanno,  not  to  be  outdone  in 
generosity,  offered  him  one  of  the  meal  cakes,  he 
accepted  so  as  not  to  seem  churlish. 

The  diners  squatted  cross-legged  on  broad,  low 
chairs  provided  for  the  purpose,  placing  on  stools  in 
front  of  them  their  bowls  with  water  jars  and  a  few 
loose  mangoes  which,  being  damaged,  were  per 
mitted  food.  The  brethren  found  themselves  with 
out  a  water  strainer  suitable  to  avert  the  destruction 
of  precious  insect  life,  for  Venerable  Bharadvajo's 
utensil  had  been  lost  on  the  way  and  Kondanno's 
had  sprung  a  leak.  But  by  the  providential  foresight 
of  the  Discipline  they  were  permitted  in  this  con 
tingency  to  use  as  strainers  the  corners  of  their  upper 
robes. 

It  was  edifying  to  see  the  Venerable  Kondanno 
eat,  punctiliously  complying  with  all  Buddho's 
rules  of  sacred  etiquette.  Neither  did  he  press  down 
his  victuals  in  the  bowl  from  the  top  to  pick  or 
choose  one  morsel  before  another,  nor  did  he  make 
his  food  into  too  large  balls,  nor  open  the  door  of  his 
mouth  till  the  billet  was  brought  close  to  it,  nor  put 
his  whole  hand  into  his  mouth,  nor  toss  the  food  in, 
nor  nibble  it,  nor  stuff  his  cheeks,  nor  scatter  the 
rice,  nor  put  his  tongue  out,  nor  smack  his  lips,  nor 
make  a  hissing  sound,  nor  lick  his  fingers,  nor  lick 
his  bowl,  nor  touch  the  water  jar  with  food-soiled 
hand.  It  may  have  been  that  the  Venerable  Bha 
radvajo  likewise  observed  these  table  precepts,  but 
his  manners  were  so  inconspicuous  that  he  lost  the 
credit  for  them.  He  ate  the  husk  porridge  and  all 
its  nameless  accidental  condiments  with  as  perfect 


[21] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


a  relish  as  one  could  show  who  tasted  it  no  more 
than  did  the  spoon.  Verily  the  abnegation  of  appe 
tite  hath  its  compensations!  Thus  it  was  that  the 
Buddho's  disciple,  the  Great  Kassapo,  having 
entered  a  village  for  alms,  once  waited  at  the  door 
of  a  leper.  When,  with  decaying  hand,  the  house 
holder  was  preparing  a  morsel  for  him,  there  crum 
bled  off  a  rotten  finger  which  dropped  into  the 
bowl.  "Seated  at  the  base  of  the  wall,"  declared 
Maha  Kassapo,  "I  ate  that  morsel,  and  as  I  ate  I 
felt  no  disgust  whatsoever." 

While  the  party  at  Nalanda  were  eating  their 
meal,  the  sun  reached  the  centre  of  its  course,  which 
warned  the  monks  that  the  appropriate  season  for 
their  solid  food  that  day  had  passed.  With  a  sigh, 
Kondanno  forewent  the  consumption  of  his  choicest 
cake.  The  compassionate  Bharadvajo  suggested 
that  it  might  not  be  wrong  to  avail  of  the  indulgence 
claimed  by  the  monks  of  the  Great  Council  and 
continue  eating  until  the  afternoon  shadow  reached 
a  breadth  of  two  fingers.  Kondanno,  however, 
spurned  this  heretical  temptation,  with  a  sharp 
rebuke  to  his  elder  comrade. 

After  their  meal  at  the  rest  house,  the  three 
friends  again  parted.  While  the  bhikkhus  tarried 
behind  for  their  visit  at  the  sangharama,  Revato 
ordered  Pilindavaccho  to  yoke  up  his  steers  and  was 
soon  jogging  along  the  highway  northward  of 
Nalanda. 

THE    ANTELOPE 

All  that  afternoon  and  the  next  day  Revato 
traveled  on  without  exciting  incident.  His  cart  and 
oxen  were  ferried  across  one  or  two  rivers,  the  fords 
being  impassible.  He  spent  the  first  night  out  at  a 
roadside  rest  house,  beside  which  Asoko  had  dug  a 
delightful  well  and  into  the  windows  of  which 
drifted  the  odors  from  a  surrounding  grove  of  mango 
trees  planted  by  the  same  human  providence.  The 
next  evening  he  fell  in  with  a  caravan  of  friendly 
merchants  whose  carts  were  drawn  up  in  circular 
laager,  and  encamped  within  their  protecting 
curtilage.  The  third  day  differed  little  from  the 
first  two  except  that  the  country  through  which  he 
passed  was  lower  and  marshier  and  hotter;  makasas, 
dangsas,  sucimukhas — gnats,  gad-flies,  needle-faced 
mosquitoes — abounded  there,  and  the  phanindas — 
cobras — wore  a  still  more  sullen  aspect  than  those  of 
the  hill  country. 

Late  that  afternoon,  when  Revato  had  come 
almost  within  a  yojana  of  the  great  capital  city,  one 
of  his  cattle  went  lame  and,  rather  than  cause  the 
beast  to  suffer,  he  put  up  his  rig  at  a  little  village, 
leaving  it  in  charge  of  Pilindavaccho  to  abide  the 
event,  while  alone  he  pushed  forward  to  finish  the 
journey  on  foot.  Soon  he  came  to  the  bank  of 
a  considerable  nadi  and  took  ferriage  to  the  western 
side,  along  which  the  road  continued.  He  was  walk 
ing  still  through  the  open  country  when  darkness 
fell. 


By  and  by  he  saw,  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  paddy 
field  near  the  road,  the  glare  of  a  fire  about  which  a 
great  throng  of  people  moved  and  filled  the  air  with 
low  but  voluminous  sound.  Above  their  voices, 
shrill  though  faint,  rose  a  single  shriek,  convulsively 
renewed  with  the  outgo  of  each  breath,  and  express 
ing  such  an  abandonment  to  agony  as  in  all  his  life 
among  mankind  and  animals  he  had  never  heard 
before. 

The  road  he  found  to  be  blocked  with  a  crowd  of 
halted  elephants  and  horses. 

"King  nam'  etang — What's  the  meaning  of 
this?"  inquired  Revato  of  the  nearest  by-stander. 
The  man  failed  to  understand  his  language,  so  he 
repeated  the  question  to  another. 

"Eneyyakang!  enneyyakang! — The  antelope!  the 
antelope!"  came  a  tremulous  whispered  answer. 

The  Antelope? — At  first  that  term  was  meaningless 
to  Revato.  Then  there  stole  into  his  memory  a 
passage  of  the  sacred  recitations  wherein,  for  spir 
itual  warning,  the  varieties  of  judicially  inflicted 
pain  are  enumerated  with  all  the  hideous  unreserve 
that  a  few  pregnant  names  can  compass.  He  pushed 
through  the  crowd  and  came  close  to  the  fire. 

A  man  was  lying  nailed  to  the  ground  by  iron  pins 
driven  through  the  joints  of  his  elbows  and  knees. 
These  tapered  spikes  had  spread  open  the  bony 
sockets,  tearing  the  ligaments  from  their  roots. 
Flames  adroitly  spaced  licked  his  limbs,  making  them 
hiss  and  charring  them  to  a  blackness  perceptible  in 
the  glare.  Repeatedly  had  his  tormentors  with 
drawn  the  stakes  and  set  him  on  his  protruding 
shank  and  arm  bones,  only  to  impale  him  again  in 
his  prone  position  with  further  distention  and  rending 
of  the  joints. 

When  Revato  reached  the  fire  the  victim  was 
making  no  more  sound  except  a  spasmodic  snorting 
and  a  gurgling  in  his  throat.  His  shrieks  had  been 
hushed  by  a  red-hot  stone  in  his  mouth. 

A  small  dog  was  fidgeting  about  him,  tail  between 
legs,  whining  perplexedly,  fearful  to  come  near  him 
yet  occasionally  venturing  to  tongue  his  raw  mem 
bers. 

"Pour  hot  tela  oil  in  its  ear,"  suggested  somebody 
in  stupid  reference  to  an  irrelevant  Brahmin  super 
stition;  for  they  say  that  if  you  fill  a  dog's  ear  with 
boiling  oil  he  will  howl  to  Indo,  who  will  take  away 
the  agony.  No  heed  to  the  suggestion  was  paid  by 
anyone,  nor  did  the  little  being  wait  to  undergo  the 
experiment,  however  valuable  it  might  have  proven  to 
Science.  He  slunk  away  among  the  legs  of  the 
crowd.  After  he  had  gone,  there  became  evident  a 
fact  which  he  had  detected  immediately,  that  his 
master  was  now  passed  out  of  pain. 

Revato  stayed  till  he  was  sure  that  the  sufferer 
could  feel  no  longer;  then  he  sought  among  the 
by-standers  for  someone  to  tell  him  what  it  meant. 

"The  unbelieving  King  of  the  Three  Kalingas  is 
returning  from  a  visit  of  tribute  to  Piyadassi," 
explained  an  intelligent  old  man  of  the  Brahmin 
color.  "While  in  Pataliputta  one  of  his  own  servants 


[22] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


made  love  to  a  lady  of  the  Kalinga  harem  and  he 
could  scarce  wait  till  he  got  clear  of  the  city  before 
dealing  out  punishment.  What  will  Piyadassi  say 
when  this  matter  is  told  him?  It  is  many  years 
since  such  cruelty  has  been  seen  in  Magadha,  but  I 
can  recollect  the  time  when  one  might  come  upon 
such  a  sight  at  any  crossroad." 

Faint  and  dizzy,  Revato  threaded  his  way  among 
the  jam  of  lavishly  equipped,  fretful  elephants  and 
strange,  barbarous  slaves  of  the  Southern  country, 
passing  through  them  as  if  they  were  a  jungle  of 
trees,  and  plodded  on  to  solitude  upon  the  dark 
highway. 

Before  long,  he  felt  something  brush  against  his 
foot  and  he  made  the  leap  instinctive  to  one  native 
in  a  serpent  land.  The  object,  however,  proved 
itself  by  its  voice  to  be  a  dog,  no  doubt  the  "Ante 
lope's,"  which  by  some  acuteness  of  canine  selection 
had  singled  him  out  as  a  new  guardian. 

"Icchitang  te  vada,  tata — speak  thy  desire,  little 
friend.  Kissa  hi  nama  me  'vang  pitthito  pitthito 
anubhandasi — Why  on  earth  dost  thou  follow  thus 
after,  after  me?  Ahang  na  te  samikang  homi — I  am 
not  thy  master." 

The  dog  cried  and  jumped  to  touch  his  sensate 
hand  with  its  dry  nose. 

"Very  well  then,"  answered  Revato  with  indiffer 
ence,  "I  will  be  thy  lord  if  thou  desirest  it  so  much. 
Thou  shalt  follow  me  forever  and  thy  name  shall  be 
Dukkho,  Anguish." 

He  passed  on  without  further  parley,  the  dog  after 
him,  and  as  he  went  he  hummed  to  himself  with  the 
reiteration  of  an  unconcentrate  mind  which  craved 
the  lulling  monotone  of  the  rhythm: 

"Tato  nang  dukkhang  anveti 
Cakkang  va  vahato  padang." 

"Thenceforth  as  he  goes  he  is  followed  by  pain 

Like  the  foot  of  the  ox  with  the  wheel  in  its  train." 


RATIVADDHANA- 


'HE  GARDEN  OF  INCREASING 
DELIGHT 


As  the  two  travelers  trudged  along,  the  dim  village 
outlines  became  more  numerous.  The  road  was 
increasingly  wet  and  in  one  place  was  flooded  so  that 
they  found  it  necessary  to  make  a  detour  through  the 
fields.  At  this  point  a  warning  growl  from  one  of 
them  broke  the  other's  lethargy  and  enabled  him  to 
avoid  what  probably  was  a  snake.  Such  walking  was 
hazardous  of  venom  but  this  now  disturbed  Revato 
little.  Moreover,  he  was  already  at  the  outskirts  of 
Pataliputta,  the  lamps  whereof  glimmered  in  aqueous 
reflection  on  the  meadows  flooded  by  Hiranriabahu 
just  before  it  merges  into  Ganga.  The  moon  now 
came  up  and  fell  across  the  ornamented  domes  of 
five  thupas  beyond  which  towered  the  Great  one 
with  its  relics  of  the  Tathagato  radiating  through  the 
heavy  masonry  their  sacred  memories.  Revato 
passed  beside  many  grand  buildings,  with  high 
gateways,  railings  and  ornamental  pillars  filmily 
outlined  with  their  scroll  work  and  graven  figures. 


He  reflected  only  that  it  was  yet  some  distance  to 
the  walled  city. 

Far  in  the  east  were  lights  which,  he  needed  not 
to  be  told,  were  burning  in  the  huge  cruciform 
Kukkutarama — the  Cock  Garden  Monastery — 
which  Asoko  had  erected  to  shelter  a  thousand 
bhikkhus.  From  that  day  when  the  holy  Thera 
Upagutto  Tisso  had  first  incited  Piyadassi  to  endur 
ing  works,  the  monarch  had  been  covering  all  Patali 
putta — yes  all  Jambudipa — with  religious  memorial 
and  residential  piles.  Where  formerly  only  grass 
and  earth  and  wood  and  brick  had  been  used  for 
building,  he  was  content  with  nothing  less  enduring 
than  hewn  stone,  to  fashion  and  adorn  which  he 
commissioned  skilful  craftsmen  to  explore  the  mys 
teries  of  Yonaloka.  Grand  structures  though  they 
were,  and  magnified  by  the  crepuscle  of  night, 
Revato  now  saw  them  with  the  apathy  of  a  beast. 
He  sensed  them  but  hardly  perceived  them.  His 
mind  was  in  the  condition  of  a  wounded  body  when 
the  shock  of  the  blow  still  staves  off  feeling  and 
inflammation  has  not  yet  set  in. 

Mechanically,  he  directed  his  course  to  the 
northwest,  crossing  bridges  and  winding  among 
lagoons,  passing  the  Fiery  Well,  which  yet  in  thought 
burned  red  with  blood  from  the  slaughter  house  of 
Asoko's  unregenerate  days.  On  the  left,  against  the 
walled  town,  was  the  vast  palace  precinct  of  the 
Moriya  dynasty,  a  fortified  city  in  itself,  where 
Candagutto  had  encamped  his  legions  of  archers  and 
horsemen  and  elephants;  which  also  he  had  adorned 
with  magnificence  unsurpassed  on  earth.  On  a 
visit  to  Pataliputta,  long  before,  Revato  had  in 
spected  these  gardens  and  pools  filled  with  rare  and 
beautiful  living  things  which  grew  from  the  ground 
and  flew  in  the  air  or  swam  in  the  water.  He  had 
seen  beside  them  their  inanimate  similitude — golden 
vines  twining  upon  tall  pillars,  birds  delicately 
feathered  by  the  silver-smith. 

Asoko,  during  his  reign,  had  enriched  the  palace 
grounds  with  many  an  edifice  of  peace  and  piety, 
but  the  trappings  of  personal  pomp  were  allowed  to 
grow  shabby.  The  grand  exterior  of  the  palace 
housed  the  mean  appointments  of  a  mendicant. 

Most  of  the  buildings  now  looked  dark  and 
deserted,  although  the  royal  family  and  courtiers 
were  not  bound  by  the  rules  to  which  His  Majesty 
had  subjected  himself.  In  a  low  house  near  the  gate, 
a  light  was  burning  and  toward  it  was  directed  a  line 
of  people,  some  apparently  of  rank,  others  mean  and 
wretched.  This  was  the  audience  chamber  which 
the  King  held  open  to  the  lowliest  of  his  subjects, 
having  promised  to  receive  them,  with  whatsoever 
petition,  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night. 

Far  back  from  the  road,  on  the  side  of  the  palace 
toward  the  town,  shone  in  the  moonlight  a  graven 
lion  which  stood  on  a  sandstone  pillar  as  tall  as  ten 
men.  It  marked  the  site  of  the  hell-mimicking 
torture  chamber  of  Asoko's  evil  days.  Some  distance 
ahead,  rose  the  city  palisade  of  sala  logs  placed  so 
close  together  that  not  even  a  cat  could  have 

23] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


squeezed  through,  with  its  64  gates  and  570  towers; 
towers  which  not  a  bowman  had  needed  to  climb 
this  many  a  year  and  gates  which  stood  open  to  all 
comers. 

While  still  passing  the  palace  curtilage,  Revato 
began  to  hear  from  a  spot  within  it  a  sound  of  music, 
a  measure  undulating  in  soft,  voluptuous  tones. 
The  approach  being  unobstructed,  he  turned  inside 
toward  the  place  whence  it  emanated  and  came  to  a 
tree-planted  enclosure  lit  up  by  numerous  oil  lamps 
which  swung  from  the  boughs.  It  was  the  Rati- 
vaddhana  park  —  "The  Garden  of  Increasing  De 
light."  There  were  tanks  filled  with  lotus  flowers 
now  open  to  the  moonlight,  and,  on  the  edges  of  the 
pools,  stone  terraces  and  porches  with  carved 
balustrades.  Odors  of  candana,  or  sandal-wood,  of 
campaka  and  sweet  unknown  perfumes  drifted  be 
yond  the  pale  of  the  grove.  One  of  the  tree  trunks 
was  dressed  up  in  robes  and  mask  as  a  bearded 
giant.  A  festal  crowd  was  watching  the  sinuosities 
of  natakis,  dancing  girls,  whose  dangling  trinkets 
flashed  in  the  lights,  while  the  surge  of  the  musical 
instruments,  to  which  they  moved,  lute  and  pipe, 
drum  and  cymbal,  was  overtoned  by  the  breezy 
tinkle  of  bells  which  hung  from  the  branches.  Some 
of  the  spectators  were  evidently  rich  men  of  the 
city,  but  others  of  light  complexion  were  clad  in 
foreign  simplicity  with  full  robes  but  few  ornaments 
other  than  crowns  of  ivy  leaves  and  flowers.  All  of 
these  strangers  were  dressed  in  a  similar  style,  very 
womanish  as  it  appeared,  though  most  of  them  wore 
full  beards.  There  were,  however,  two  or  three 
whose  figures  and  flowing  hair  proclaimed  them  to 
be  really  women  —  women  mingling  with  men  at  a 
public  revel! 

Anon  the  tender  music  ceased,  and,  as  the  dark 
dancing  girls  rested,  the  fair  Yonas,  men  and  women, 
sprang  forth  cavorting  wildly,  flourishing  long  rods 
and  shouting  "Evoe!"  "Evoe!"  Then  in  full,  loud 
chorus,  they  raised  a  song  of  their  own  in  an  unknown 
tongue,  moving  the  while  in  no  set  figure  of  dance, 
but  with  free  and  rising  expression  of  their  madness. 
Quick  and  light  sometimes  was  the  chorus,  then  it 
swelled  in  vociferous  ucca  sounds,  tumultuously: 

"'Pef  Se  ydXaKTt.  ireSov,  pel  5'  o'lvy,  pel  de  fi.e\i<T<ra,v 
\iftdvov  /coirvij." 


HO.K- 


Again  it  speeded  and,  broken  upon  by  shrill  notes 
from  the  pipes,  it  came  along  like  river  waves  beat 
ing  the  shoje  in  a  monsoon: 

"  <3  'ire 
T£>\OV 
M^\7rere  rbv  Aibvvffov 
Papvf3p6/J.ti}v  inrb  TVfjnravuv  —  " 

Thus  on,  and  on  with  increasing  frenzy. 

In  Revato  this  song  produced  the  feeling  of  an 
elusive  memory.  Not  the  strange  words,  but  the 
mental  odor  of  feeling  which  the  music  carried, 
related  itself  to  some  blissful  hour  before  the  begin 
ning  of  present  consciousness.  Perhaps  it  was  on  a 


morning  in  the  heavenly  garden  of  Nandana  in 
some  former  birth — at  all  events  the  memory  evaded 
his  efforts  to  fix  it. 

He  was  aroused  by  the  voice  of  Dukkho  barking 
at  the  carousers.  Whatever  disapproval  Revato 
might  have  felt  concerning  the  wantonness  of  this 
festival — wantonness  at  least  as  judged  by  the 
Buddho's  standard — was  swallowed  up  by  indigna 
tion  at  its  heartlessness.  The  power  of  pain  was 
strong  upon  him;  the  clash  of  this  orgy  against  the 
evening's  cruel  tragedy  made  him  sick  and  desperate. 

*"Namo  tassa  bhagavato  arahato  samma  Sam- 
buddhassa!"  he  cried  under  his  breath. 

The  words  thus  profanely  spoken  were  no  less  than 
the  sacred  Gloria,  the  highest  of  all  adoring  ascrip 
tions  to  his  blessed  Master. 

The  instinct  of  a  brain  frantic,  whether  in  morti 
fication  or  despair,  is  to  apply  upon  itself  a  counter- 
irritant.  A  shriek  of  blasphemy  uttered  in  such 
condition  is  no  vulgar  presumption,  but  springs 
from  an  inexorable  demand  of  the  mind  to  embrace 
whatever  it  holds  most  in  abhorrence.  Remorseful 
reaction  usually  follows  at  once. 

In  this  case,  however,  the  momentum  of  despair 
did  not  instantly  spend  its  force.  By  the  lightning 
movement  of  his  brain,  Revato  sought  for  a  further 
self-martyrdom.  There  came  to  him  a  thought  of  the 
gem  which  his  mother  had  given  him,  with  the  graven 
veniki  —  lute-girl.  It  seemed  to  symbolize  this 
uncontrite,  uncompassionate  festivity  and  he  was 
impelled  to  throw  it  away.  Thus,  however,  to 
treat  the  keepsake  so  highly  prized  by  its  giver 
would,  he  realized,  be  a  contemptible  act,  and  it  was 
precisely  for  that  reason,  in  order  to  fasten  upon 
himself  a  shame  at  which  he  shuddered,  that  the 
impulse  became  irresistible.  This  train  of  reflection 
passed  in  the  time  of  a  heart  beat,  and  before  he 
could  bring  his  saner  judgment  to  bear,  with  a 
spasmodic  motion  like  the  recoil  from  a  serpent's 
stroke,  he  had  flung  the  pretty  pebble  into  a  lotus 
tank. 

In  the  quick  premeditation  of  the  act,  he  had 
reflected  that  the  stone  possessed  little  intrinsic 
value.  If  it  had  been  a  merchantable  asset,  convert 
ible  for  the  relief  of  suffering,  he  even  then  might 
have  preserved  it.  His  destructive  impulse  was 
spiritual  rather  than  material  in  object. 

Bitter  repentance  followed  the  act.  It  dissolved, 
however,  in  a  whirl  of  confused  emotions  which  took 
new  shapes  from  moment  to  moment  as  he  pro 
ceeded  on  his  way.  Revato  now  crossed  the  moat 
and  entered  the  town  proper.  He  walked  through 
the  city  like  a  somnambulist,  turning  into  the  wind 
ing  market  thoroughfare,  which  he  followed  from 
end  to  end.  The  dark  narrow  ways  were  packed  with 
closely-built  dwellings,  rising  story  above  story, 
each  house  tenanted  by  many  families.  They  were 
mostly  of  wood,  some  of  brick  and  plaster,  a  few 

*"Honor  to  that  Blessed,  Sainted,  Fully,  Perfectly  Enlightened 
Buddho." 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


modern  edifices  of  stone.  In  the  better  districts 
they  were  of  grand  architecture,  having  tiered  arches 
above  the  doorways,  bay  windows,  lofty  balconies 
and  belvederes.  Their  stuccoed  walls  bore  a  pro 
fusion  of  cornices  and  fretwork  moulded  with  relief 
images  and  cut  with  lettered  inscriptions.  Of  these 
mansions  he  took  no  heed,  but  the  misery  of  the 
poor  tenements  found  a  welcome  in  his  thoughts. 

He  passed  near  a  hill  of  hewn  stones,  huge  and 
high,  piled  as  if  by  giant  hands,  and  gullied  at  the 
top  like  the  approach  to  Buddo's  cave  on  Gijjha- 
kuta.  This  was  the  hermitage  where  the  royal 
Elder  Mahindo  had,  for  some  years  after  quitting 
Giribbaja,  continued  to  subdue  his  heart  in  seclu 
sion  before  entering  upon  his  mission  to  men. 

By  this  time  Revato  had  almost  crossed  the  town 
diagonally  and  was  approaching  the  northern  wall, 
which  lies  toward  the  river  Ganga,  but  a  by-way 
brought  him  to  his  destination.  It  was  a  private 
house  where  he  had  lodged  before,  and  where  he 
was  sure  of  admittance  even  at  this  late  hour. 

After  making  himself  known  he,  with  his  dumb 
follower,  was  shown  up  two  flights  of  dark  stairs 
to  the  apartment  where  he  must  remain  till  morn 
ing.  He  returned  anon  to  procure  a  bowl  of  rice 
milk  for  Dukkho  who,  after  lapping  it,  fell  asleep. 
For  the  master,  sleep  was  not  to  be  entertained  even 
as  an  elusive  hope.  The  fever  of  his  wounded  spirit 
was  now  supervening.  It  compelled  him  to  medita 
tion  upon  yatana,  torment,  and  karana,  agony. 

THE    COMMUNITY    OF    PAIN 

Revato  strove  to  reproduce  in  his  mind  the  feel" 
ings  of  the  Black  Antelope,  summoning  before  his 
memory  the  severest  hurts  of  which  his  own  ex 
perience  afforded  a  knowledge,  whether  by  crushed 
finger  or  sprained  limb  or  brief  contact  with  fire. 
Could  these  be  multiplied  intensively  a  thousand 
fold,  they  might  approach  the  anguish  of  this  victim; 
but  such  abstract  knowledge,  he  was  aware,  brought 
no  truly  sympathetic  sense  of  the  actuality. 

Most  persons  who  had  never  been  put  to  torture 
treated  it  as  a  light  matter  in  the  world,  just  as  the 
spectator  of  death  turns  away  and  goes  about  his 
business  with  eyes  that  have  not  pierced  the  veil  of 
the  tragedy.  Torment  was  supportable  by  those 
who  never  had  felt  it;  who  assumed  it  to  be  like 
other  discomforts  of  life;  who  did  not  know  that  the 
limit  of  endurance  is  often  reached  at  its  very 
beginning,  and  that  during  the  ensuing  hours  or 
days  of  it,  it  keeps  on  beyond  all  endurance,  beyond 
all  words. 

Revato  took  note  that  torture  had  always  been  the 
practice  of  strong  men  toward  weak  men  the  world 
over,  and  that  it  was  so  still,  in  spite  of  much 
clemency  and  mitigation  where  Asoko's  good  will 
controlled;  that  during  every  moment  of  time, 
in  many  places,  numerous  victims  were  contorted 
in  dolorous  ecstasy.  The  agonies  thus  voluntarily 
inflicted  by  human  caprice  and  sagaciously  con 
trived  to  wrest  the  keenest  of  protracted  pain  from 

[25 


the  bodily  regions  of  most  exquisite  feeling — such 
pain  as  rarely  is  approached  in  the  quick,  clumsy 
knocks  of  chance — must  far  exceed  in  sum  of  anguish 
all  the  ills  that  come  by  desease  and  accident.  So 
much  for  the  pains  of  this  life;  of  sufferings  in  other 
worlds,  the  heart's  forebodings,  or  perhaps  its 
memories,  might  testify. 

For  a  moment  the  spirit  of  Revato  yielded  to  its 
instinct  to  cry  out  for  revenge  upon  the  makers  of 
pain  everywhere,  but  his  judgment  soon  told  him 
how  much  worse  than  useless  this  would  be,  for  it 
would  merely  add  to  the  sufferings  of  the  victims 
those  of  the  persecutors,  who  would  feel  just  as 
acutely  and  who  were  no  better  able  to  bear  it.  Was 
not  torment  itself  due  to  revenge?  If  two  wrongs 
did  not  make  a  right,  why  should  three  wrongs? 

He  tried  to  think  of  pain  that  had  been  endured  in 
the  past  as  no  longer  valid,  because  it  has  ceased;  but 
although  unable  to  explain  how,  he  was  sure  that 
this  consoling  temporal  philosophy  was  in  some  way 
fallacious. 

Revato  had  never  before  perceived  so  clearly  as 
now  the  relative  paltriness  of  his  own  identity.  He 
felt  himself  melted  in  the  huge  cauldron  of  animate 
things.  Suffering  is  suffering  and  of  no  less  conse 
quence  whoever  the  sufferer  may  be.  Only  through 
illusion  could  he  ever  have  been  contented  while 
another  agonized.  What  is  pain,  he  asked,  but  some 
violation  of  law,  some  discord  in  the  harmony  of 
Nature?  Suffering,  then,  is  the  effect  of  such  a 
discord  upon  an  intelligence  which  perceives  it. 
Few  minds  are  equipped  or  willing  to  realize  anything 
outside  of  their  own  bodies,  but  if  they  had  perfect 
knowledge  they  would  have  perfect  sympathy,  and 
pain  would  reach  them  equally  through  whatsoever 
body  it  was  received.  Phassa,  touch,  produces 
vedana,  feeling,  but  does  not  the  real  suffering  take 
place  in  sannd,  the  corresponding  perception?  Only 
because  of  its  better  connection  with  the  region  of 
disturbance,  is  our  sanna  irritated  by  the  contacts 
of  our  body  rather  than  with  those  which  befall 
another.  But  in-so-far  as  we  possess  vinndna, 
reason,  our  minds  can  overleap  physical  limitations, 
and  suffering,  wherever  in  the  universe  it  occurs, 
becomes  equally  our  own. 

Dukkho  was  lying  by  Revato's  bed,  whining  at 
the  separation  from  his  former  master,  not  without 
some  sad,  doggish  memory  of  its  awful  significance. 
Suddenly  he  gave  a  yelp. 

"Ko  nu  avuso — How  now,  friend?"  said  Revato. 
"Art  thou  dreaming  that  they  are  treating  thee  as 
they  did  thy  master?" 

The  dog  had  been  stung  in  the  foot  by  a  satapada, 
a  centipede. 

"If  I  were  truly  wise,  his  hurt  would  be  just  as 
much  mine, "  thought  Revato.  Because  of  the 
better  communication  between  his  paw  and  his  mind 
than  between  his  paw  and  my  mind,  he  feels  it  more 
than  I.  Had  I  perfect  insight  like  the  Buddho,  I 
should  receive  the  dolorous  intelligence  equally  with 
Dukkho." 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


There  arose  in  his  recollection  certain  gathas  from 
the  hymn  which  the  Blessed  One  addressed  to  the 
sage  Asito: 

"Toward  the  living  void  of  wrong, 
Whether  feeble,  whether  strong. 
'Just  as  I  am,  so  are  you; 
Just  as  you  are,  I  am  too.' — 
Thinking  thou  art  such  as  they, 
Do  not  slay  nor  cause  to  slay." 

"As  one  would  be  happy  in  a  dear,  only  son," 
said  another  of  old,  "so  in  all  beings  everywhere,  let 
him  be  happy." 

And  if  he  cannot,  like  the  cheerful-minded  saint, 
feel  that  happiness  is  the  lot  of  all  beings,  nor  in 
the  long  run,  even  of  a  few,  must  he  not  share  their 
travail  ? 

Thus  began  Revato  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
Sabbatattd,  cunctus  ego,  identification  of  all  creatures 
with  one's  self.  His  own  individual  troubles  shrank 
to  the  vanishing  point.  So  far  as  his  limited  mind 
was  capable,  he  bore  in  it  the  sorrows  of  the  Cosmos, 
— not  as  distinct  from  it,  but  as  a  molten  part  and 
parcel  of  that  infinite  community  of  suffering. 

The  revelation  was  tinged  with  no  exaltation  nor 
spiritual  pride,  but  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  unspeak 
able  horror,  with  ravings  upon  the  reality  of  earthly 
and  hellish  tortures  which  cast  him  into  fever  and 
sweat  and  violent  chills  that  caused  his  teeth  to 
chatter  like  the  rattling  of  bambu  stalks  in  a  gale. 

So  was  Revato  submerged  in  despair.  But  the 
drowning  man  will  clutch  at  a  straw  which,  in  his 
delirium,  will  seem  to  him  a  great  buoyant  timber. 
After  hours  of  sleepless  tossing  had  dragged  on, 
while  Revato's  successive  moods  of  gloom  evolved 
like  lurid  images  in  closed  eyes  and  his  lucubrations 
had  fatigued  themselves  to  incoherence,  he  found  at 
last  the  straw,  which  he  grasped  like  a  dying  man. 

That  straw  was  a  memory  of  the  festival  in  the 
Rativaddhana  pleasuance,  whose  clinging  music 
played  itself  over  and  over  in  his  head.  To  speak 
critically,  this  was  a  revolt  of  his  selfish  corporeal 
nature  against  the  stern  altruism  of  judgment — such 
a  revolt  as  will  come  when  intellectual  frankness  is 
carried  too  far — a  rebound  against  the  narrow  con 
fines  of  mental  endurance. 

He  formed  a  wish  to  walk  once  more  through  the 
pleasure  garden,  and  in  that  trivial  prospect  he  felt  a 


thrill  of  joyful  expectancy,  for  when  the  eyes  have 
grown  used  to  darkness,  a  slender  beam  of  light 
makes  a  brilliant  illumination. 

"How  lightly  is  my  body  tossed 

When  lifting  joy  assails, 
And  airily,  like  cotton  down, 

Goes  drifting  on  the  gales!" 

Quickly  his  conscience  smote  him  and  accused  him 
of  the  desire  as  an  evil.  Self-examination  convinced 
him  that  had  there  been  no  ladies  in  the  party  he 
would  be  regarding  the  Rativaddhana  stolidly. 
Sophistry  essayed  to  coerce  this  plain  truth  by 
representing  that  he  was  merely  projecting  a  stroll 
in  the  dewy  morn  among  the  quiet  trees  and  pools 
which  their  nymphs  must  long  since  have  deserted. 

"How  are  we  to  behave,  Lord,  toward  woman 
kind?"  the  gentle  Anando  had  once  asked  his 
Master.  "Don't  see  them,  Anando." — "But  if  we 
should  see  them,  what  are  we  to  do?"  Don't  speak 
to  them,  Anando." — "But  if  they  should  speak  to 
us,  Lord,  what  are  we  to  do?"  "Keep  wide  awake, 
Anando." 

"I  will  act  according  to  the  precept  of  the  Blessed 
One,"  thought  Revato,  "and  if  I  do,  there  is  no 
reason  why  I  should  not  visit  the  grove." 

Immediately  after  this  thought  has  passed  through 
his  head  he  regretted  thus  having  made  what 
might  be  construed  as  a  vow  to  bind  his  conscience. 
He  was  ever  making  what  he  subsequently  regarded 
as  vows,  hampering  his  future  freedom  of  choice, 
and  the  more  he  strove  against  the  habit  the  more  he 
betrayed  himself  into  them. 

But  even  with  the  fiction  of  such  a  safeguard 
against  the  dangers  of  his  proposed  ramble,  he 
failed  to  deceive  himself,  or  to  avoid  a  consciousness 
that  he  wanted  less  to  enjoy  the  park  itself  than  to 
revive  its  associations.  The  stern  Buddhist  criterion 
was  not  in  error,  and  his  desire  to  go  was  its  own 
condemnation. 

Dawn  was  already  looking  in  at  the  window.  Striv 
ing  to  transfix  one  of  the  elusive  moments  when  his 
conscience  gave  the  ghost  of  an  approval,  Revato 
sprang  up,  cast  his  garments  about  him,  dashed 
down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house,  breaking  loose 
from  deliberation  and  keeping  free  by  bodily  momen 
tum. 

Dukkho  stayed  in  the  room  and  whined. 


CHAPTER  IV 
PROTE 


The  misty  air  of  early  morning  which,  after 
Revato's  restless  night,  felt  at  first  depressing  in  its 
chilliness,  soon  restored  his  animation  and,  by  a 
rapid  transition,  the  sorrows  of  the  old  day  gave 
place  to  the  exhilaration  of  the  new. 


Strolling,  he  retraced  his  way  to  the  palace  grounds 
and  the  Rativaddhana  pleasuance,  wherein  he 
sauntered.  The  transparent  ponds  were  matted 
with  water  lilies  and  loti,  white  and  yellow  and 
blue,  interspersed  with  red  blossoms  fallen  from  the 


[26] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


palasa  trees,  which  together  with  fruitful  mangoes 
cast  on  the  pools  their  shade.  He  recognized  the 
tree  that  had  been  dressed  up  as  a  giant  with  bearded 
mask,  its  upper  branches  spreading  above  the  head 
and  a  little  altar  placed  near  for  incense  and  offerings. 
On  the  trunk  now  hung  musical  instruments, 
scented  tresses  and  other  votive  relics  of  the  orgy, 
while  on  the  ground  were  debris  of  wassail.  How 
like  was  this  in  some  ways  to  the  tree  worship  of  the 
village  folk!  Yet  where  they  drew  from  their 
superstitions  lessons  of  goodness,  charity  and  respect 
for  the  simple  gifts  of  the  poor,  these  impious 
foreigners  preverted  religion  to  purposes  of  de 
bauchery. 

A  turn  of  the  path  among  the  trees  brought  him 
face  to  face  with  a  woman.  He  recoiled  in  amaze 
ment,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  trinket  which 
he  had  flung  away  the  night  before  was  taking 
human  life  and  stature.  She  was  a  young  lady, 
hardly  more  than  a  girl,  dressed  in  a  straight  full 
skirt  with  an  ungirt  upper  garment  hanging  loose 
over  it  from  her  shoulders.  It  was  the  costume  of 
Yonakis;  Yonaka  pallor  possessed  her  face  and  arms. 
She  held  against  her  breast  a  little  golden  harp 
shaped  like  the  one  on  the  cameo. 

"Don't  see  them,  Anando!"  The  Master's  first 
injunction  had  already  been  shattered. 

"Don't  speak  to  them,  Anando!"  This  contingent 
precept  was  yet  inviolate,  and  Revato  quite  intended 
to  keep  it  so.  He  had  always  been  more  or  less  in 
awe  of  the  sex,  partly  from  inculcated  distrust, 
partly  from  the  quite  contrary  tendency  of  un 
sophisticated  youth  to  suppose  all  women  filled  with 
contempt  and  resentive  dignity  toward  that  vermin 
ous  biped,  man.  However,  to  avoid  occasion  of 
speech,  Revato  might  have  made  more  haste  to 
pass  along  than  in  fact  he  did. 

"Bho  sappurisa" — it  was  the  nymph  addressing 
Revato  with  condescending  speech  in  correct  Pali 
prettily  timbred  by  her  foreign  tongue.  "Bho 
sappurisa — O  my  good  fellow —  do  you  see  that  little 
black  and  white  object  which  lies  in  yonder  lotus 
blossom?  Ingha  tvang,  nang  me  ahara — Won't  you 
please  fetch  it  to  me?" 

"Bhadde  tvang  ka  nama — Who  are  you,  fair 
lady?"  he  cried  as  if  in  doubt  of  her  earth-born 
nature. 

"Manusi  ahangasmi — Human  I  am,  "she  answered 
reassuringly. 

Revato  stood  irresolute. 

"Ehi  vigahehi  bala,  Come  plunge  in,  you  simple 
ton,"  she  encouraged.  "Don't  you  see  what  I 
want?  I'm  not  asking  you  to  pluck  a  blossom.  Are 
you  afraid  that  you  will  be  changed  into  one  yourself 
like  Dryope  when  she  ravished  away  the  home  of 
the  nymph  Lotis.  Take  courage,  tata,  no  lotus  flower 
will  you  ever  become." 

Finding  no  plausible  excuse,  Revato  waded  into 
the  shallow  water  and  recovered  from  its  flowery 
place  of  lodgment  the  gem  that,  a  few  hours  before,  he 
had  tossed  away.  The  pretty  imaged  lutist  had 


rested  among  the  lotus  petals  like  the  Blessed  One 
in  popular  fancy.  (Om  mani  padume  horn — Amen! 
The  jewel  in  the  lotus — Amen!) 

Having  been  discarded,  she  now  belonged  to  her 
living  antitype  by  right  of  discovery.  So  at  least, 
Revato  inferred  from  certain  precedents  in  that 
sacred  law  commentary,  the  Sutta  Vibhanga.  Even 
had  he  asserted  his  older  title,  the  claim  would  have 
been  unprovable.  He  therefore  meekly  fetched  the 
trinket  to  land  like  a  retrieving  dog  and  drippingly 
delivered  it  to  her  who  waited  for  it  on  the  bank. 

The  YonakI  had  prepared  to  offer  him  money  for 
his  trouble,  two  or  three  masakas,  perhaps,  or  a 
pada;  but  as  he  approached  she  drew  back  the  coins. 
She  had  changed  her  opinion  of  his  social  station 
and  perceived  that  the  disorder  of  his  travel-stained 
clothes  was  not  due  to  mean  quality,  for  she  thanked 
him  with  less  contemptuous  speech  than  she  had 
used  in  her  request.  As  she  scrutinized  the  graven 
gem,  her  eyes  sparkled  and  then  moistened. 

"My  country  woman!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  was 
born  on  the  very  island  where  she  had  lived." 

The  girl  had  now  lost  all  of  her  supercilious  imper 
tinence.  She  seemed,  however,  to  possess  little  of 
the  reserve  expected  in  a  stranger.  Throwing  her 
little  lute  against  her  breast,  she  began  to  sing  to  its 
accompaniment,  in  her  alien  tongue,  a  song  sweet 
as  the  music  of  a  GandhabbI — a  celestial  musician — 
yet  of  a  quality  incontestably  her  own. 

"What  are  you  singing?"  interrupted  Revato 
with  rudeness  which  his  conscience  dictated. 

"Ah,  it  is  unfair  to  you;  you  cannot  understand 
me,"  she  answered.  "If  I  could,  I  would  translate 
it  into  your  own  language  for  you,  but  as  easily 
could  I  change  myself  into  an  Ariya.  Although  you 
must  admit  that  I  do  fairly  well  with  your  barbarian 
Pali,  for  I  studied  under  the  best  masters  while  we 
tarried  in  Taxila.  Let  me  sing  it  as  it  is,  and  I  will 
interpret  the  meaning  as  I  go  along;  thus  you  shall 
have  both  the  sound  and  the  sense." 

Cleverly,  in  this  way,  with  explanatory  breaks 
here  and  there,  she  rendered  for  Revato  her  song: 

("Long  of  old  time,  Atthis,  I  grew  to  love  thee.") 

"Atthis  now  cometh  no  more  to  me. 

Yea,  for  death  yearn  I  unfeignedly. 

Yet,  with  tears,  parting,  protested  she: 

'Woe,  our  plight,  Sappho,  is  piteous; 

Hark,  I  swear,  haste  I  unwillingly 

Forth  from  thee.'    Fondly  I  answered  her: 

'Go  thy  way,  joyfully  treasuring 

All  my  love.    Dims  in  thy  memory 

Soon  our  soft,  beautiful  indolence? 

Many  a  rose  mingled  with  violets 

Curbed  thy  wild  hair,  which  it  garlanded. 

Many  a  wrought,  floreal  catena 

Bound  thy  neck,  delicate  prisoner. 

Many  a  myrrh  jar  unbegrudgingly 

Soothed  thy  mild  skin,  and  exquisitely, 

Oftentimes,  lounging,  we  surfeited, 

Taste  uncloyed,  scorning  satiety.' 


("Hateful  now,  Atthis,  grown  is  thy  recollection, 
Fickle  my  child,  flitting  to  seek  Andromeda; 
Cyprus  holds  thee — Panormos  yet  or  Paphos?) 


[27] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"Nay,  in  proud  Sardis  she  glisteneth, 
'Mid  the  bright  ladies  of  Lydia, 
Like  the  full  moon  after  sun-setting 
Rising,  rose-fingered  and  magical — 
Ancient  lights  merged  in  effulgency, 
Starry  eyes  blurred  to  obscurity, 
Vague,  with  salt  ocean  and  pasturage 
Whereon,  dream-tinted,  indefinite, 
Roses  wild-nurtured,  with  anthryscas, 
Clover-blooms  honey-secretory, 
Drink  the  earth  dews  to  their  quickening. 
How  she  still  sometimes  in  revery 
Starts  with  keen  pain  to  an  utterance, 
Calls  us,  calls  Dika  to  come  to  her — 
Dika  thou  whom,  for  thy  melody 
Praising,  not  falsely  she  deified — 
Thou  and  I  know  from  an  eavesdropper, 
Many-eared  Night,  who  is  resonant 
O'er  the  trenched  waters  of  severing. " 

"Madhurassaro  vata  bho  ayya — Oh  how  very 
sweet  a  sound,  lady!"  cried  Revato,  quite  forgetting 
himself.  "Tatha  hi  madhuravacanang — Yea,  verily, 
a  sweet  voice!" 

"It  was  my  sister  townswoman  who  first  sang  that 
song,"  she  continued,  "the  girl  engraven  on  this 
stone." 

"Are  you  then  Atthis?"  inquired  Revato. 

"Oh  no.  Atthis  and  Dika  and  she  lived  hundreds 
of  years  ago.  Often  at  evening  I  have  stood  on  the 
mountain  side  looking  across  the  olive  groves  upon 
the  lights  of  the  town  and  I  have  remembered  her  as 
she  felt  that  she  would  be  remembered  in  the 
hereafter." 

"It  was  a  long  time  for  an  island  to  remain,"  said 
Revato.  "Yours  of  Yonaloka  must  be  unlike  ours 
that  are  formed  by  the  sands  of  the  Ganga  and 
Yamuna — transitory  as  are  we  poor  folk,  who 
inhabit  them." 

"Our  islands,"  she  answered,  "are  great  moun 
tains  of  rock  clad  with  cool  verdure  and  washed  by 
the  white  waves  of  the  blue. sea  where  ships  ever  ply 
to  bring  us  the  merchandise  of  the  rich  mainland 
cities  and  all  the  marvels  of  the  world." 

"Do  the  women  who  live  there  go  about  and  de 
port  themselves  boldly  like  men?"  enquired  Revato, 
trying  to  prove  to  himself  that  he  was  keeping  wide 
awake. 

"Some  have  too  greatly  that  reputation — but  no, 
there  is  decorum  in  Hellas  as  well  as  in  Jambudipa. 
You  must  not  judge  us  by  the  way  we  act  here. 
When  one  has  traveled  with  a  few  companions  for 
months  and  years  over  seas  and  deserts  and  moun 
tains,  among  barbarian  peoples,  the  conventions  of 
home  society  are  forgotten.  Where  women  share 
alike  with  men  in  hardships  and  dangers,  they  soon 
acquire  freedom  of  speech  and  action.  And  when  a 
woman  has  once  tasted  of  liberty  she  will  not  readily 
return  to  slavery." 

"Women  are  as  instable  as  the  buds  which  float 
in  air;  but  tell  me,  bhoti — Madam — did  you  bring 
that  golden  instrument  all  the  way  with  you?" 

"Yes,  to  keep  me  in  memory  of  Apollo,  whom  I  left 
behind  me  when  I  entrusted  myself  to  the  guidance 
of  the  kind,  if  capricious,  Pan.  This  was  made  in 


similitude  of  a  lute  which  hangs  in  Apollo's  temple 
on  my  island  where  it  was  brought  by  Poseidon 
together  with  the  head  of  Orpheus  after  he  had  been 
torn  to  pieces  by  the  Bacchantes  of  the  Thracian 
mountains." 

"I  do  not  know  the  persons  of  whom  you  speak, 
but  since  you  mention  a  temple,  I  presume  they  are 
the  gods  taught  in  your  dhamma.  I  hope  that  you 
have  not  led  any  of  them  to  Jambusando,  for  I 
assure  you  that  we  have  plenty.  The  Brahmins 
can  supply  you  with  a  hundred  million,  all  equally 
worthy  creatures!" 

"I  did  not  lead  them;  they  led  me,"  she  answered. 
"I  am  ever  in  the  protection  of  my  foster  fathers,  the 
Sea  God  and  the  Earth  God,  who  have  conducted  me 
bluffly  but  safely.  Why  should  I  forsake  them  when 
they  have  been  so  faithful  to  me?  You — what  no 
tions  have  you  of  the  vastness  and  perils  that  lie 
between  my  home  and  yours?" 

"If  it  be  situate  upon  the  Aparagoyana,  that 
great  Moon-shaped,  green-tinted  Western  Island, 
you  must  indeed  have  had  a  rough  voyage,  for  they 
say  that  no  man  ever  crossed  stormy  Samudaya, 
the  sea  which  lies  between." 

"Aparagoyana,"  she  rejoined,  "is  not  greener 
than  my  island,  nor  is  Samudaya  a  more  tempes 
tuous  sea  than  that  which  I  crossed.  Listen:  We 
embarked  on  board  a  hollow  black  ship  with  mast 
and  sails  placed  in  order;  the  rowers  sat  on  their 
benches  and  smote  the  hoary  waves  with  their  oars. 
After  we  had  last  seen  the  smoke  leaping  from  our 
own  town  we  wandered  far  over  the  compact  wave 
among  water-circled  rocks  and  groves  towards  the 
lands  of  Boreas,  until  we  had  passed  out  through  the 
narrow  straits  as  did  Jason  of  old  in  the  equal  ship 
Argos.  On  that  wide-wayed  sea  the  Southeast  and 
the  South  rushed  together  and  the  hard-blowing 
West  and  the  cold  producing  North  and  the  waves  of 
Amphitrite  swelled  like  mountains  and  night  arose 
from  heaven.  Then  was  my  heart  smitten  with  old 
legends  and  I  feared  to  be  driven  upon  the  shores  of 
the  Cimmerians,  who  dwell  near  to  Hades.  But 
above  us,  like  the  sea-gulls,  followed  blue-eyed 
Athene,  who  subdued  for  us  the  shrill  winds,  so 
that  when  rosy-fingered  dawn  appeared  the  sea  grew 
calm.  Thus  it  went  on  for  many  days;  I  thought 
that  we  should  sail  over  the  edge  of  the  world,  but 
we  came  safely  upon  a  rocky,  mountainous  shore 
where  we  left  the  blue  sea  to  roll  against  the  land 
and  committed  ourselves  to  the  protection  of  the 
Earth  God.  We  traveled  with  great  hardship,  some 
times  over  steep,  snowy  mountains,  sometimes  across 
wheat-producing  plains,  through  lands  of  hostile, 
barbarous  people  from  whom  we  were  in  much 
danger.  I  had  not  believed  that  the  whole  earth 
measured  the  extent  of  those  countries.  Once  and 
again  we  dared  pernicious  fate  on  trackless  plains  of 
sand  so  fine  that  it  slipped  through  one's  fingers. 
By  day  the  ground  became  hot  as  a  bed  of  coals, 
wherefore  we  could  not  walk  on  it,  but  must  encamp 
under  awnings  till  after  sun-down.  Oh!  how  we 

28] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


wished  ourselves  back  on  the  moist,  fishy  ways!  Our 
desert  pilot  forgot  his  knowledge  of  the  stars;  thirst 
subdued  the  throat,  and  hunger  the  belly;  our 
camels  dropped  by  the  way  and  some  of  our  barba 
rian  servants  died,  as  did  two  of  our  own  people. 
But  still  the  gods  hovered  on  high.  We  came  at 
last  to  the  shores  of  a  great  river,  which  we  followed 
to  lands  of  men.  I  will  not  tell  you  of  the  sore  trials 
yet  to  be  encountered  in  passing  the  tall  mountains, 
where  desire  of  grief  again  overtook  us,  nor  of  the 
joy  whenever  we  entered  the  cities,  no  longer  bar 
barians,  but  of  lonians.  And  finally,  in  spacious 
carts,  we  passed  on  to  the  land  of  the  Prasioi,  your 
Magadha. 

"Do  you  tell  me  then,"  she  concluded,  "that  I 
should  neglect  the  bright  gods  who  have  never 
neglected  me?  Some  day  my  Pan  will  bear  me  home 
and  lay  me  to  rest  on  the  grassy  base  of  my  own 
island  Olympus  by  the  heavy-booning  wave  of  the 
^Egean  where  Poseidon  shall  forever  shed  salt  tears 
over  my  grave  and  his  voice  shall  mingle  with  my 
dreams." 

"Where  is  your  Pan  now?"  sneered  Revato; 
"lurking  about  your  door-step  like  a  Sudda  porter?" 

"No  indeed!"  exclaimed  she  without  taking 
offence.  "He  would  never  quit  his  haunts  among 
the  lonely  hills  and  valleys  to  dwell  in  a  large  city. 
The  god  who  attends  on  me  here  is  familiar  to  the 
soil,  a  sojourner  here  ages  ago,  perhaps  a  native. 
It  was  from  Jambudipa  that  he  came  to  us  over  the 
sunburnt  plains  of  Persia,  forbidding  Media  and 
happy  Araby,  across  the  golden  fields  of  Lydia  and 
Phrygia,  reaching  at  last  our  Hellenic  Thebes.  He 
is  a  god  of  mirth  and  light-heartedness.  In  this 
bright,  warm  land  whom  could  I  worship  with 
better  grace?  In  our  colder  country  we  celebrate 
his  revival  with  the  Spring  or  his  rich  maturity  with 
the  harvest  of  the  vine.  Here  it  is  fitting  that  we 
perform  his  rites  when  the  steaming  rains  are 
ended  and  earth  renews  her  freshness  under  the 
clear  skies  of  approaching  winter.  Yes,  you  have 
really  two  Springtimes,  so  we  may  well  hold  two 
Greater  Dionysia.  Only  last  night  we  paid  the  god 
his  tribute  of  joy." 

"Was  that  what  I  saw  and  heard  when  I  passed 
by  here?  No,  it  cannot  be  possible  that  you  would 
have  taken  part  in  such  debauchery!" 

"It  was  only  innocent  mirth,"  she  said.  "Among 
the  mountains  in  the  north  of  my  country,  the 
feast  sometimes  runs  to  wantonness,  but  my  friends 
and  I  conform  to  the  moderate  manners  of  the  re 
fined  South." 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  repeat  for  me  a  few 
lines  of  the  song  you  sang?"  asked  Revato. 

"Gladly,"  she  answered,  "but  you  would  tire  in 
hearing  them  all.  I  will  begin  however." 

She  commenced  to  recite  the  dithyrambic  in  her 
strange  tongue,  her  voice  quickening  with  excite 
ment  as  she  proceeded.  When  she  reached  the 
words  "'Pet  8<  yoAaKTi  Trc'Sov,"  he  stopped  her. 


"Yes,  that  is  what  I  was  waiting  for.  Can  you 
not  explain  to  me  what  it  means." 

Then,  by  her  method  of  song  in  the  original, 
broken  with  interpretations,  which  clumsily  done 
would  have  spoiled  the  whole,  but  which  under  her 
skill  made  it  clear  and  graceful,  she  rendered  the 
lines. 

"Flowing  with  milk  is  the  ground,  and  with  wine  it  is  flowing, 
and  flowing 

Nectar  of  bees;  and  a  smoke  as  of  incense  of  Araby  soars; 

And  the  Bacchanal,  lifting  the  flame  of  the  brand  of  the  pine 
ruddy-glowing, 

Waveth  it  wide,  and  with  shouts,  from  the  point  of  the  wand  as 
it  pours, 

Challenges  revellers  straying,  on-racing,  on-dancing,  and  throwing 

Loose  to  the  breezes  his  curls,  while  clear  through  the  chorus  that 
roars 

Cleaveth  his  shout, — 'On,  Bacchanal  rout, 

On,  Bacchanal  maidens,  ye  glory  of  Tmolus  the  hill  gold-welling, 

Blend  the  acclaim  of  your  chaunt  with  the  timbrels  thunder- 
knelling, 

Glad-pealing  the  glad  God's  praises  out 

With  Phrygian  cries  and  the  voice  of  singing, 

When  upsoareth  the  sound  of  the  melody-fountain 

Of  the  hallowed  ringing  of  flutes  far-flinging 

The  notes  that  chime  with  the  feet  that  climb 

The  pilgrim  path  to  the  mountain!' 

And  with  rapture  the  Bacchanal  onward  racing, 

With  gambollings  fleet  ». 

As  of  foals  round  the  mares  in  the  meads  that  are  grazing, 

Speedeth  her  feet. " 

"There  is  nothing  astonishing  in  that,"  said  Re 
vato,  "although  some  names  which  are  new  to  me." 

"Did  you  expect  anything  astonishing?" 

"I  thought  that  there  must  be  something  wonder 
ful  in  it,"  he  answered,  "but  let  that  pass,  for  it 
was  a  whim." 

"Beauty  is  no  friend  of  surprise,"  she  rejoined, 
"and  beauty  is  the  air  that  the  Immortals  breath. 

"Amma — madam" — said  Revato  after  a  pause, 
"I  have  attended  to  you  thus  far  as  you  have  talked 
of  your  gods.  Now  pray  listen  to  a  word  yourself. 
Are  you  not  aware  that  they  have  no  power  to  help 
you,  and  that  they  will  not  even  help  themselves, 
because  they  are  dazzled  by  illusion,  like  you  and 
me.  To-day  they  are  sowing  to  the  senses,  ex 
periencing  what  they  think  to  be  happiness,  but 
to-morrow  they  may  be  hurled  down  into  torments 
such  as  you  and  I  shall  also  undergo.  How  will  you 
enjoy  lying  for  hundreds  of  thousands  of  eternities 
licked  by  encircling  flames  with  your  tender  joints 
all  burst  asunder  by  thick  wedges?"  These  words 
he  spake  with  the  earnest  of  fresh  reminiscence. 

The  girl  showed  a  slight  tremor  at  his  graphic 
details  but  quickly  took  means  to  banish  the  painful 
imagery.  With  a  stroke  of  her  fingers  across  the 
strings  of  the  lute,  she  burst  out  into  another  song: 

"Unborn,  on  the  olden  aeons,  drifted  immortal  plasms, 

Moribund  prey  to  aversion,  scattered  apart  in  the  whirl-pool. 

Kypris  moved  on  the  vortex,  filling  desire  in  its  atoms, 

Stirring  all  things  with  a  will  to  draw  nigh  to  each  other. 

Thus,  on  eternal  chaos,  eternal  love  was  laboring; 

And  the  froward  paths  turned  toward  and  the  separate  rushed  to 

mingle; 

Forth  from  their  deathless  deadness,  a  mortal  life  came  flowing — 
Myriad  manifold  creatures,  variant,  peculiar  of  purpose, 


[29] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


All  that  have  been,  or  are  now,  or  that  grope  in  the  fogs  of  the 

future — 
Trees  that  form  lodgment  of  air-fowl,  grasses  that  grow  in  their 

shadow, 
Fishes  which  drink  of  the  sea-brine,  beasts  that  find  food  in  the 

woodland, 

Women  and  men,  strong-limbed,  fertile  in  skill  and  invention, 
Yea,  and  the  glistening  gods  of  sky-bound,  starry  Olympus- 
All  are  the  deed  of  desire  and  of  love  and  of  sweet  Aphrodite. " 

"How  can  your  sages  teach  you  such  an  absurd 
and  abominable  doctrine?"  cried  Revato.  "How 
can  they  be  shrewd  enough  to  discover  that  desire 
is  what  keeps  us  all  in  the  Wheel,  and  yet  such  fools 
or  such  knaves  as  to  applaud  it — just  as  if  they 
wanted  to  stay  here?" 

"Most  of  us  do  want  to  stay  here,"  replied  she. 

"Not  the  clearly  seeing,"  answered  Revato.  "Not 
those  of  whom  the  Blessed  One  declares: 

"  'The  wheel  is  broken,  craving  now  is  dead; 
Nor  flows  the  river  on  its  dried-up  bed. 
Ne'er  shall  the  shattered  wheel  roll  on  again, 
And  so  is  reached  the  Perfect  End  of  Pain.'  " 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  lady,  that  from  craving  all  things 
proceed  and  by  clinging  they  persist; 

"  'Mind-resulting,  such  our  fate, 
Mind-conditioned,  mind-create.'  " 

"We  fabricate,"  he  continued,  "each  our  own 
world  of  pleasure  and  ambition,  in  which  are  the 
occasions  of  our  grief.  The  more  diversified  and 
lofty  our  interests  become,  the  more  numerous  and 
poignant  our  sorrows.  These,  our  realms,  are  like 
the  poetry  composed  in  a  dream,  mellifluous  and 
ravishing  at  the  time  but  commonplace  trash  if 
remembered  after  awaking.  It  is  for  such  despicable 
baubles  that  we  undergo  torments.  But  just  as, 
when  asleep,  we  are  half  conscious  that  our  dreams 
are  unreal,  yet  because  they  are  so  delightful  we  re 
frain  from  breaking  them  off,  so  it  is  with  the 
illusion  of  self.  Even  when  it  hurts  us  we  still  adhere 
to  it,  as  if  a  kitten  be  biting  its  tail  painfully  yet 
continue  to  do  so  because  the  little  tuft  is  so  attract 
ive.  At  last  we  become  so  enwrapped  with  our 
craving  that  we  can  no  more  rid  ourselves  of  it  than 
a  sala  tree  can  shake  off  a  long  creeper  that  is 
coiled  about  its  trunk.  As  the  tree  is  destroyed, 
thus  are  we." 

"So  there  then  no  rightful  place  for  joy  in  life?" 
asked  she.  "It  is  wrong  to  wish  to  be  happy?" 

"For  worldly  happiness,"  answered  Revato,  "I 
can  see  np  room  unless  it  be  that  which  comes 
unsought  and  gratuitously  after  we  have  completely 
renounced  it  and  ceased  to  expect  it.  But  all  our 
selfish  emotions  must  be  dried  up,  our  anxious 
projects  abandoned,  for  these  are  streamlets  tribu 
tary  to  the  River  of  Life  which  continually  flows 
into  the  Ocean  of  Sangsara.  You  have  heard  how 
when  the  grandson  of  the  devout  lady  Visakha  died 
she  went  at  unseasonable  hours  with  tear-wet 
hands  and  hair  to  declare  to  the  Blessed  One  her 
grief. — 'Do  you  not  find,  Visakha,  that  there  are 
sons  and  grandsons  in  proportion  to  the  number  of 


men  in  SavatthI?' — 'Yea,  Sire.' — 'And  how  many 
of  SavatthI  die  daily?' — 'Sometimes,  Sire,  ten  of 
SavatthI  die  daily,  sometimes  nine,  eight,  seven,  six, 
five,  four,  three,  two,  and  sometimes  only  one.  Of 
those  who  die  daily  in  SavatthI,  Sire,  there  is  no 
lack.' — 'What  think  you,  Visakha,  have  you  found 
at  any  house  those  whose  garments  and  hair  have 
been  unwetted  by  tears?' — 'Not  so,  Sire;  how  is  that 
possible  with  so  many  sons  and  grandsons?' — 
'Those,  Visakha,  who  have  a  hundred  dear  ones  have 
a  hundred  sorrows,  those  who  have  one  dear  one 
have  one  sorrow.  For  those  who  have  no  dear  ones, 
there  is  no  sorrow.' 

"Whatso  of  sorrow,  what  of  pain  and  sighing 
Pervades  the  earth,  it  from  attachment  springs; 
Where  craving  is,  there  also  grief  undying; 
No  trouble  follows  him  who  never  clings. " 

"I  still  will  cling,"  said  the  girl,  "to  the  memory 
of  my  island  home.  My  life,  be  it  long  or  short,  shall 
be  spent  in  the  sunshine,  in  the  busy  walks  of  life, 
surrounded  by  the  beautiful  things  which  the  gods 
have  made  and  which  they  have  taught  men  to  con 
trive.  They  of  Olympus  dwell  not  in  solitudes,  nor 
would  they  have  us  to  do  so.  It  comforts  us  to 
think  how  much  they  resemble  us  in  our  frailties, 
but  it  must  inspire  us  to  reflect  how  we  may  grow 
like  them  in  their  splendor.  We  do  so  when  we 
make  the  world  glorious  and  magnificent.  That 
can  come  only  by  cultivating  with  the  finest  training 
our  desires  and  longings."  Throwing  her  fingers 
recklessly  across  the  strings  of  her  lute,  she  trilled: 

"Sweeter  than  harp,  more  golden  than  gold  the  sunlight; 
Golden  earth-fruits  ripen  in  far-off  Hesper; 
To  my  warm  soul  delicate  thoughts  are  welcome — 
Seeking  and  yearning. 

"From  the  hard  hills,  gloomy  with  flying  shadows, 
Comes  a  keen  wind  rattling  the  rusty  oak  leaves; 
Trembles  my  soul  thus  in  the  gale  of  Eros, 
Sweet-bitter  fellow. 

"What  if  unprized  maidenhood  always  hold  me? 
What  if  elude  me  ever  the  garden  islands? 
Strip,  ye  strong  gales,  all  of  my  brown  repining — 
All  but  my  yearning." 

"Itthi,  ka  hi  nama  tvang? — Woman,  who  are 
you?"  exclaimed  Revato  when  she  had  finished. 

"My  name  is  Prote,  and  yours,  pray?" 

"Revato.  I  am  called  the  Layman  Revato 
Yuvano." 

"But  why  did  you  ask  my  name  so  abruptly?" 
she  inquired  for  information. 

"Because  I  thought  it  must  be  Tanha-Rati- 
Arati." 

"Lust,  Folly  and  111- Will,  my  good  Sir,  the  three 
daughters  of  Maro  all  rolled  into  one.  Behold  how 
learned  I  am  in  your  philosophy!" 

"It  is  no  laughing  matter,  Lady.  We,  all  of  us 
who  have  not  reached  the  Blessed  Condition,  are 
prone  to  yield  to  the  desires  of  our  hearts,  strive 
against  them  as  we  may;  we  do  so  because  those 
desires,  bitter  as  they  really  are,  seem  sweet  to  our 

30] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


perverted  taste,  and  we  feel  we  cannot  resist  them. 
But  deliberately  to  cultivate  such  craving  is  a 
suicidal  presumption  which  I  would  not  charge  upon 
the  very  devils  in  the  hells." 

Prote  listened  to  this  remark  with  exhausted  pa 
tience  and  took  it  as  favorable  opportunity  to  close  the 
interview  by  departing  her  own  way.  Before  leaving, 
she  restored  to  his  hand  the  gem  lady,  saying: 


"You  braved  the  terrors  of  the  deep  to  rescue 
her  and  she  shall  be  yours." 

Before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  whether  to 
accept  or  reject  the  gift,  he  stood  alone.  Another 
foreign  woman,  her  maid-servant  or  slave,  had 
appeared  and,  thus  attended,  she  vanished  from  the 
Rativaddhana  park. 


CHAPTER  V 
A  DAY  IN  TOWN 


THE    FLOWER    SCAVENGER 

Hardly  had  the  voice  of  Prote  ceased  in  his  ear 
when  Revato  heard  near  him  a  song  in  another  key — 
the  shrill  croak  of  a  broken-voiced  old  man.  He 
was  a  pupphachaddaka,  a  flower  scavenger,  one  of 
those  miserable  creatures  of  the  Pukkasa  caste, 
despised  even  by  Suddas,  who  try  to  maintain  life 
by  clearing  away  the  wilted  garlands  which  have 
served  their  brief  day  in  god-houses  or  elsewhere, 
and  perhaps  realizing  something  on  the  second-hand 
stock. 

To-day  he  was  happy  as  a  Khattiya  prince; 
having  risen  early  from  the  river  bank  where  he  had 
slept,  he  had  come  to  collect  the  debris  of  last 
night's  festival — treasure  trove  rich  to  him  as  a 
buried  crock  of  gold.  No  wonder  he  was  frantically 
endeavoring  to  sing  the  hymn  of  old  Elder  Sunlto: 

"Of  lowly  parents  I  was  born; 

Scant  profits  of  the  world  were  ours; 
My  work  was  wretched  and  forlorn, 

I  gathered  refuse  wilted  flowers — 

"A  lowly  caste  which  men  of  worth 
Leave  on  the  left  when  passing  by. 

I  groveled  ever  on  the  earth, 
Since  few  there  were  so  low  as  I. 

"I  saw  betimes,  as  near  he  drew 

To  Rajagaha's  opening  gates, 
That  Being  Altogether  True, 

On  whom  the  Band  of  Brethren  waits. 

"My  burden  staff  I  dropped  aground; 

To  reverence  him,  I  ventured  near. 
Compassionate,  he  turned  around, 

That  One  Supernally  Made  Clear. 

"Whom  sentient  worlds  account  sublime, 
To  him  I  crept  with  plaudits  meet; 

My  sordid  life  of  earlier  time 
I  laid  renouncing  at  his  feet. 

"The  Perfect  Lord  of  Sympathy, 

Whose  pity  reaches  everywhere, 
'Come  Brother,'  gently  said  to  me — 

And  fully  thus  ordained  me  there. 


"Deep  sunken  in  untiring  thought, 
In  woodland  glades,  alone  and  still, 

I  led  the  life  the  Teacher  taught 
And  carried  out  the  Conqueror's  will. 


"By  night's  first  watch  I  saw  the  sign — 
A  birth  came  back  from  long  ago; 

The  middle  watch,  with  eye  divine, 
I  marked  the  systems'  ebb  and  flow; 

Till,  e'er  the  watch  of  morning-shine, 
My  darkness  fled  forevermo'. 

"And  when  the  sun  was  near  to  rise, 
Two  chieftains  of  the  angel  bands 

Appeared  before  my  wondering  eyes 

And  worshipped  me  with  clasped  hands: 

"  'All  hail,  thou  man  of  noble  race! 

All  hail,  who  art  a  prince  indeed! 
Whose  taints  are  purged  beyond  a  trace, 

Be  votive  offerings  now  thy  meed.' 

"When  so  the  Master  saw  me  there, 

With  angel  cohorts  at  my  feet 
And  glory  filling  all  the  air, 

He  spake  these  words  I  now  repeat: 

"  'Where  fervent  striving,  self-command, 
Where  faith  and  goodness  disenthral, 

See  there  a  twice-born  Brahmin  stand, 
The  highest  Brahmin  of  them  all.'  " 

Such  had  been  the  emancipation  wrought  by  the 
Lord  of  the  Dhamma.  Poor  creatures  who,  in  the 
Brahmin  days,  might  have  had  their  ears  filled  with 
molten  wax  or  their  tongues  torn  out  for  meddling 
with  high  religion,  were  now  accounted  worthy  of 
attainment  to  the  most  exalted  estate.  True,  this 
particular  outcaste  had  never  complied  with  the 
conditions  of  enfranchisement, — perhaps  he  was 
contingently  ineligible  by  reason  of  slavery  or 
debt — but  the  consciousness  of  his  recognized 
natural  qualification  must  have  been  to  him  a  deal  of 
comfort.  He  saw  reflected  upon  him  a  gleam,  at 
least,  of  the  glory  which  shone  from  the  Thera 
Sunlto  of  the  song,  who,  while  still  in  his  own  de 
spised  condition,  had  been  received  not  only  into 
fellowship  with  the  Brethren,  but  had  been  selected 
for  the  rare  honor  of  immediate  presbyterial 
ordination,  passing  over  the  diaconate.  When  the 
mean  estate  of  the  singer  was  considered,  his  boast 
ful  language  became  magnificent. 

With  less  influencial  preoccupations  on  Revato's 
part,  the  flower  gatherer's  allusions  to  him  who 
probes  the  spirit  would  have  brought  him  to  his 
senses,  contrite;  but  so  strongly  was  he  then  con- 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


trolled  by  the  buoyant  reaction  of  the  morning, 
with  its  vision  of  new  life,  that,  for  the  time  being,  he 
heard  only  the  cheerful  note  in  this  anthem  of  con 
secration. 

After  passing  through  the  park,  he  walked  on 
under  stress  of  an  energy  which  clamoured  to  be 
converted  into  rapid  motion.  The  ten  saddas,  or  ur 
ban  noises,  which  ordinarily  jarred  on  his  nerves, 
now  stimulated  them.  He  passed  through  the  monu- 
mented  suburbs  near  the  palace,  viewing  with  rapture, 
in  the  glow  of  the  dawn,  those  edifices  which  by 
moonlight  he  had  beheld  with  apathy.  Before  he 
realized  it  he  was  out  on  the  country  road  among 
the  wet  paddy  fields. 

About  the  hour  when  the  townspeople  were 
opening  their  shops  and  beginning  their  day's 
work,  and  the  monks  from  the  viharas  were  coming 
into  the  residential  streets  to  fill  their  breakfast 
bowls,  Revato  caught  sight  of  his  own  cart  jolting 
toward  him,  with  Pilindavaccho  in  command.  The 
ox  that  had  been  lame  was  now  going  with  scarcely 
a  limp.  This  arrival  provided  the  owner  with  a 
desirable  change  of  clothing.  Having  secured  his 
baggage,  he  resorted  to  a  barber  for  a  shave  and  to  a 
public  bathhouse  where  he  might  remove  the  smut 
and  sweat  of  his  journey.  After  an  exhilarating 
plunge  in  a  tank  of  cold  water,  and  after  being 
smeared  with  powder  and  clay,  steamed  in  a  hot-air 
chamber  and  vigorously  massaged,  he  put  on  his 
fresh  garments,  including  a  sataka,  or  cloak,  of 
fine  Benares  cloth,  which  he  had  just  purchased  in 
•  the  metropolitan  shops.  The  physical  purification 
did  not  fail  of  a  sympathetic  mental  effect,  and  he 
returned  to  his  lodging  feeling  like  a  man  who  has 
been  promoted  to  a  celestial  Sagga  after  a  term  in 
theTapana  hell. 

When  Revato  entered  his  room,  he  was  greeted 
with  a  whine  from  Dukkho  who  had  patiently  re 
mained  there  awaiting  him.  His  first  act  was  to  go 
in  search  for  some  food  and  drink  for  the  dog  and 
also  for  himself.  After  the  meal  he  rested  and  was 
visited  by  reflections  which  burst  the  bubble  of  his 
happiness. 

The  lamentable  failure  of  his  last  night's  resolu 
tions  reproached  him  and  he  felt  the  almost  ludicrous 
way  in  which  successive  safeguards  to  conduct — 
precautions  of  sight,  speech  and  discretion — when 
the  first  in  line  is  upset,  tumble  down  like  a  row  of 
poised  bricks.  The  prime  mover  had  been  desire. 
His  broken  resolution,  however,  worried  him  not  so 
much  because  of  its  late  infraction,  which  was  a 
matter  of  the  past,  as  because  he  felt  it  still  to  be 
binding  upon  him.  Habitually,  his  anxieties  related 
to  his  future  conduct.  He  must  now  undo,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  wrong  he  had  done,  by  avoiding 
another  encounter  with  Prote  and  forever  banishing 
from  his  thoughts  all  that  she  was  or  represented. 
The  questionable  strength  of  his  obligation  made  it 
worse  than  if  his  duty  had  been  more  certain,  his 
mind  being  thereafter  constantly  strained  with  the 
worry  of  doubt  and  indecision.  His  disposition  to 


self-argument  had  always  taken  advantage  of  his 
racial  quietism  to  produce  irresolution.  At  times 
there  had  sprung  within  him  high  exotic  impulses  to 
achieving  endeavor  which  augmented  his  mental 
turmoil;  with  the  result,  usually,  that  he  did  nothing. 
That  safety  resides  with  inaction,  was  his  philosophy, 
pusillanimous  in  sound,  but  complicated  by  difficult 
ethical  considerations.  May  cowardice  be  charged 
against  moral  resistance  and  inward  striving?  Is 
not  the  truest  exertion  padhana — that  of  the  mind — 
which  Bhagava  performed  when,  emaciate  and 
motionless,  by  the  river  Neranjara,  he  withstood  the 
assaults  of  the  tempter  Maro  and  steadfastly  con 
tinued  until  he  found  the  infinite  rest?  Deeds  have 
different  meaning  and  value  in  the  physical  and 
spiritual  world. 

Be  the  judgment  thereupon  what  it  may,  Revato 
began  to  show  hesitancy  about  carrying  out  the 
purpose  for  which  he  had  come  to  Pataliputta,  that 
of  resigning  his  lucrative  office.  The  reason  for  such 
a  change  of  heart  may  be  suspected  to  reside  in 
certain  very  obvious  ambitions  connected  with 
Prote.  There  is  a  scintilla  of  truth  in  this,  for  he  was 
human,  but  the  explanation  comes  far  short  of 
fathoming  his  self-tantalizing  ingenuity.  The  only 
shadow  of  chance,  as  he  saw  it,  to  be  free  and  live  as 
others  did,  was  not  in  availing  himself  of  his  present 
business  connections,  but  of  cutting  loose  from 
them  before  they  drew  him  any  deeper  into  what  he 
regarded  as  the  indebtedness  which  tended  to 
smother  his  life  in  a  futile  attempt  at  restitution. 
The  decision  to  resign  had  cost  a  hard  struggle  and, 
after  it  had  been  reached,  he,  according  to  a  habit, 
had  philosophically  striven  to  accommodate  himself 
to  the  new  condition.  In  this  way,  particularly  now 
after  meeting  Prote,  he  had  adduced  those  reasons 
which  made  him  really  anxious  to  be  clear  of  his 
office.  But  as  soon  as  inclination  had  been  dragooned 
into  line  with  duty,  duty  swung  around  to  the 
opposite  side.  His  conscience  was  like  a  weather 
vane  which  infallibly  points  against  the  wind.  In 
his  private,  as  in  his  traditional  philosophy,  desire 
was  a  sure  criterion  of  wrong. 

Reason  for  his  shifting  of  opinion  as  to  duty  was 
found  in  the  conflict  of  strict  ethical  ideals  on  one 
side  and  sane,  practical  morals  on  the  other.  At 
one  time  he  might  feel  compunction  to  cast  the 
deciding  vote  in  accordance  with  his  own  rigorous 
logic,  at  another  time  to  renounce  his  rectitude  and 
defer  to  what  he  knew  would  be  the  opinion  of  most 
good  men.  So  it  was,  that  while  preference  deserted 
the  side  of  retaining  his  office,  his  inward  monitor 
veered  to  that  direction.  By  no  means,  however, 
did  he  feel  that  he  would  be  relieved  from  the  final 
accounting  required  by  perfect  logic.  To  speak 
plainly,  his  conscience  demanded  that  he  do  an 
injustice  and  finally  repair  it  at  the  complete  sacri 
fice  of  himself.  So  his  situation  became  worse  than 
ever.  Thus,  though  doubtfully  and  falteringly,  came 
forward  a  negative  policy  tending  to  hesitation  and 
procrastination.  It  did  not  immediately  check  his 


[32] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


attempts  to  execute  his  plans,  but  every  step  was 
with  self-reproach. 

THE    ASSISTANT    SECRETARY    OF    RELIGION 

According  to  his  original  project,  Revato  called 
that  afternoon  within  the  palace  enclosure  to  see  his 
friend  Dabbo  Kumaputto,  a  Dhammayutta,  or 
Assistant  Secretary  in  the  Holy  Law,  subordinate 
under  Migalandiko  the  Dhamma-mahamatta,  or 
High  Minister  of  Religion.  The  functions  of  this 
governmental  department  were  varied.  It  was  con 
cerned  with  ecclesiastical  affairs  proper;  with  the 
administration  of  royal  alms;  it  supervised  the  fe 
male  establishments  of  the  King's  relatives;  enter 
tained  appeals  in  criminal  cases  of  wrongful  imprison 
ment  or  chastisement  and  could  grant  relief  where 
men  had  large  families  or  were  advanced  in  years; 
it  exercised,  moreover,  powers  of  intervention  in 
other  departments  in  cases  savoring  of  a  religious 
nature.  In  short,  this  bureau  was  the  moral  Censor 
and  Court  of  Equity  of  the  realm. 

From  natural  hesitation  to  reveal  his  mind  to 
Dabbo,  Revato  opened  the  interview  with  general 
topics  of  remark.  The  conversation  drifted  upon  the 
buildings  which  the  old  king  was  erecting  for  sacred 
uses  with  more  zeal  than  ever  and  upon  the  crafts 
manship  that  he  had  imported  for  this  purpose  from 
distant  lands. 

Theretofore,  the  public  edifices  when  of  material 
more  enduring  than  wood,  had  commonly  been  made 
of  brick  finely  overlaid  with  chunam  plaster  on  which 
were  frescoed  graceful  devices  of  wreath  and  creeper, 
of  ribbon  or  dragon's  tooth  and  perchance  a  pic 
tured  scene  from  hallowed  story.  Asoko  had  sub 
stituted  massive  stone,  no  less  elaborately,  if  more 
arduously  and  enduringly,  adorned  with  carving. 
New  forms  of  architecture  and  art  began  to  appear; 
his  builders  returning  from  studienreisen  to  Takkasila, 
Sagala,  Persepolis  and  other  regions  of  the  nearer 
Yonalokas,  executed  in  timid  bas-relief  designs  of 
column  and  capital  that  were  strange  to  Magadha. 

Dabbo  gave  particulars  of  a  subject  already 
vaguely  known  to  Revato,  that  the  Emperor  was 
now  seeking  to  copy  foreign  architecture  more  per 
fectly  by  imparting  artisans  from  its  native  countries. 
His  was  not  the  arrogance  of  his  father,  Bindusaro 
Amittaghato,  who  has  sought  to  buy  from  the 
Yonaka  king  Antlyako,  wine,  figs  and  a  sophist, 
only  to  be  informed  that  the  sophist  was  not  for 
sale.  With  the  respect  due  to  a  high  contracting 
party,  Asoko  had  secured  the  services  of  a  skilled 
architect,  Diyomedo  by  name,  from  the  far-off  true 
Yonaloka,  and  he  had  come  bringing  with  him  a 
staff  of  sculptors  and  master  workmen.  For  so  long 
a  time  they  had  been  at  work  already,  that  their 
first  great  enterprise  was  well  under  way.  This 
was  a  new  sangharama,  or  "society  garden,"  on  an 
island  in  Ganga,  opposite  the  city,  near  the  place  of 
Buddho's  miraculous  crossing,  in  commemoration  of 
which  event  it  was  to  be  called  the  Parayana  Sangha 
rama,  the  Monastery  of  the  Way  to  the  Further 


Shore."  It  was  to  comprise  two  large  quadrangles  of 
cells,  an  elaborate  service  hall,  and  a  grand  thupa 
wherein  would  be  enshrined  the  water  pot  and  oil 
lamp  which  had  served  during  Buddho's  discourse  in 
the  rest  house  of  Patali  village.  The  design  of  the 
service  hall,  now  nearing  completion,  had  been  much 
admired  and  criticized,  the  latter  chiefly  owing  to  the 
simplicity  of  its  lines.  As  a  reluctant  concession  to 
the  wishes  of  his  royal  employer,  who  objected  to  a 
style  wholly  beyond  popular  appreciation,  Diyomedo 
had  consented  to  carve  around  it  a  frieze  represent 
ing  scenes  in  the  Jataka  fables,  stipulating,  however, 
that  they  should  be  arranged  according  to  his  own 
taste.  His  Majesty  was  so  much  interested  in  the 
work  that  he  frequently  visited  the  island  to  observe 
its  progress.  Dabbo  suggested  to  Revato  that  he  go 
there  himself  and  take  a  look  at  it. 

Up  to  this  time  Revato  had  been  promising  him 
self  that  he  would  gradually  lead  the  conversation 
around  to  the  subject  of  his  call  on  Dabbo.  Having 
failed  to  do  so,  he  now  availed  of  a  lull  in  the  dis 
cussion  by  making  a  plunge  into  the  dreadful  case. 
When  once  started,  it  was  easy  for  him  to  talk — 
easier  than  for  Dabbo  to  listen — but  he  insisted  on 
finishing  his  story  to  the  bitter  end.  His  conclusion 
was  that  Dabbo  should  transmit  his  appeal  to  the 
Dhamma-mahamatta,  or  at  least  introduce  him 
gracefully  to  that  dignitary. 

"Why,  tata,"  sneered  Dabbo,  "the  Mahamatta 
(Great  Minister)  would  help  you  merely  by  turning 
you  out  of  your  job.  He  would  accuse  you  of  rivalry 
with  himself,  seeing  you  are  so  mahamatta  (such  a 
big  fool)." 

This  stupid  pun  and  a  parting,  "Bhaddang 
bhavato  hotu — Good  luck  to  you,"  were  the  only 
consolation  Revato  could  get  from  Dabbo's  quarter. 
He  was  thrown  back  upon  the  miserable  support  of 
his  own  resources.  He  must  approach  the  High 
Minister,  if  at  all,  upon  his  own  responsibility, 
but  the  chief's  attitude  was  already  hopelessly 
forcasted  by  his  underling. 

There  remained  the  course  of  appeal  to  the  King, 
who  surely  would  not  reject  the  petition  flippantly, 
and  whose  door  was  always  open  to  suppliants.  This 
method  was  clear  and  plain,  yet  not  too  simple  for 
Revato  to  discover  some  difficulty  that  he  could 
raise  in  objection.  He  suggested  to  himself  that  the 
regular  audiences  were  crowded  and  that  he  was 
sure  he  could  not  explain  the  intricacies  of  his  case 
on  such  an  occasion.  He  must  arrange  to  meet 
Piyadassi  when  more  at  liberty — and  would  not  the 
Parayana  sangharama  be  a  likely  place  for  such  an 
encounter?  Both  pros  and  cons  of  this  project  were 
numerous;  the  reasons  underlying  them  were  mixed 
and  subtile.  Since  these  motives  were  yet  evasive  in 
Revato's  mind,  it  would  be  precipitate  to  define  them 
here,  but  they  will  come  to  their  own  with  the  sequel. 

LAMPS    UNTO    ANOTHER 

That  same  afternoon  Revato  fell  in  with  his  old 
companions,  Venerable  Bharadvajo  and  Venerable 


[33 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


Kondanno,  who  had  just  arrived  in  Pataliputta. 
The  latter  was  much  perturbed. 

"This  morning,"  Kondanno  exclaimed  in  a  tone 
which  suggested  that  his  fetter  of  patigha,  vindictive- 
ness,  had  not  been  completely  severed,"  we  met  a  great 
troop  of  people  on  the  road  with  horses  and  elephants 
and  armed  guards — a  royal  march  it  seemed" — 

"The  Ex-king  of  Kalinga,"  supplied  Revato. 

"And  his  myrmidons  beat  us  with  sticks,"  con 
tinued  Kondanno,  "they  lamed  Bharadvajo's  wrist 
and  cracked  my  bowl!" 

"But  it  does  not  hurt  much  now,  bhante,"  inter 
posed  Bharadvajo,  condoningly. 

"It  is  astounding,  bhante,"  cried  Revato,  "that 
the  servants  of  any  vassal  monarch  in  the  empire 
should  not  respect  the  person  of  a  Sakiyaputtiya 
ascetic.  The  Maharaja  of  Kalinga  can  be  no  loyal 
subject  of  Piyadassi,  no  more  than  he  is  a  walker  in 
the  Holy  Law;  let  me  tell  you  what  I  know  about 
him."  And  Revato  proceeded  to  relate  the  story  of 
the  Antelope. 

The  monks  listened  with  no  emotional  expression, 
Kondanno  probably  owing  to  his  slight  power  of 
sympathy  and  Bharadvajo  because  of  an  equanimity 
which  had  long  ago  discounted  the  travail  of  the 
world.  By  way  of  reply  he  intoned  a  gatha: 

"Unless  your  predelection  be  for  pain, 
From  open  or  occult  misdeed  abstain. 
If  such  a  deed  you're  doing  or  will  do, 
There's  no  escaping  of  the  pain  for  you." 

"Kira — 'tis  rumored" — said  Kondanno,  "that 
the  object  of  the  Kalingissaro's  visit  to  Pataliputta 
is  less  well  known  to  Piyadassi  than  to  Prince 
Dasaratho.  The  latter  has  never  shown  any  great 
affection  for  our  Order,  so  far  as  his  gifts  are  con 
cerned.  They  say  that  he  turns  mendicants  away 
from  his  door  without  a  morsel.  He  is  incensed  at 
his  grandfather's  expenditures  for  charity  and  for 
the  buildings  which  the  Yonakas  are  foisting  upon 
the  old  King.  It  is  secretly  believed  that — but  why 
should  I  repeat  all  that  I  hear?" 

"Against  the  Kalingas  Piyadasi  committed  the 
great  sin  of  his  unconverted  days,"  said  Bharadvajo 
reflectively,  and  he  murmured: 

"Not  in  the  highest  air  nor  ocean's  hollow 
Nor  dark  in  some  deep  cave's  perpetual  night 
Nor  any  earthly  where  shall  cease  to  follow 
The  present  power  of  a  past  unright. " 

In  spite  of  their  misadventure,  for  which,  perhaps, 
compensation  lay  in  the  gossip  that  it  supplied, 
Kondanno  was  far  from  disconsolate.  He  was  in 
good  humor  over  his  sermons  preached  during  the 
journey  and  especially  his  disputations  with  the 
professors  at  Nalanda. 

He  assumed  great  scorn  of  Pataliputta  city  with 
its  ephemeral  glories,  as  he  declaimed  in  the  words 
of  an  old-time  saint: 

"I  fall  when  others  rise, 

I  rise  when  others  fall; 

I  will  not  dwell  where  others  dwell 

Nor  share  their  joys  at  all." 


Revato  had  never  noticed  in  Venerable  Kondanno 
such  independence  of  spirit  as  these  words  would 
indicate,  but  he  held  his  peace.  Venerable  Bha 
radvajo,  however,  administered  a  gentle  rebuke  to 
his  comrade  by  recalling  to  mind  Elder  Laludayi, 
also  of  old  time.  That  worthy  had  a  knack  of 
croaking  at  a  wedding,  "Without  your  walls,  where 
cross-roads  meet,  the  foemen  lurk,"  or  at  a  funeral, 
"Oh,  may  you  see  a  thousand  such  glad  days";  but 
the  Blessed  One  characterized  him  as  deficient  in 
common  sense. 

Such  approval  by  the  highest  authority  of  a 
worldly,  temporizing  policy  could  not  be  unwel 
come  to  a  certain  mood  in  Revato  which  now  was 
on  the  alert  for  any  argument  or  holy  warrant  in  its 
behalf. 

"Have  you  done  the  business  for  which  you  came 
here,  Layman?"  inquired  Kondanno  of  Revato  with 
a  painful  dryness. 

"Not  yet,  bhante,  I  have  somewhat  changed  my 
mind  about  it." 

"Sadhu,  sadhu! — Good,  good!"  exclaimed  Ven 
erable  Bharadvajo  in  a  cheery  tone.'  "I  was  con 
fident  that  time  would  bring  a  cure.  And  now  to 
change  the  subject,  have  you  been  to  see  the  Para- 
yana  sangharama,  the  navakamma — new  work — 
which  the  foreign  mechanics  are  building  for  Piya 
dassi?  They  say  its  architect  is  the  equal  of  Maha- 
Govindo." 

"I  have  not  visited  it,  bhante;  have  you?" 

"Not  thus  far,  tata.  First  must  come  a  night's 
rest  with  the  brotherhood  at  the  Kukkutarama; 
then  we  shall  make  the  round  for  our  pindapata  and 
must  eat  it  as  our  bhatta — breakfast.  After  that, 
we  shall  certainly  take  a  good  look  at  the  new  vihara 
of  which  all  the  friars  on  the  road  are  talking.  But 
after  all,  these  new  scenes  can  never  be  so  gratifying 
as  the  old  ones.  That  house  over  yonder  stands  on 
the  site  of  the  one  where  the  Buddho  last  dined  with 
the  High  Ministers  of  Magadha,  and  the  location  of 
old  rest  house  where  he  preached  cannot  be  far  from 
here." 

"What  is  your  opinion  of  the  Yonakas,  bhante?" 
inquired  Revato. 

"They  are  like  all  other  living  creatures,  still 
shackled  by  the  fetters,"  answered  Bharadvajo, 
"and  destined  to  toss  forever  in  the  ocean  of  sang- 
sara,  rebirth,  unless  they  grasp  the  blessed  Dhamma 
taught  by  Bhagava  and  thus  attain  a  foot-hold  on 
the  Further  Shore." 

"Let  me  tell  you  of  one  whom  I  met  this  day," 
and  Revato  described  his  meeting  with  Prote. 
"Now  what  have  you  to  say  about  her,  bhavanta?" 

"Is  she  beautiful?"  asked  Kondanno. 

"Beautiful  as  the  daughters  of  Maro  when  they 
came  to  tempt  Bodhisatto  by  the  river  Neranjara. 
But  her  physical  beauty  is  nothing  compared  with 
her  beauty  of  mind,  or  in  turn,  with  the  universal 
beauty  which  she  reflects!  I  am  well  aware  that 
most  of  this  is  the  mere  illusion  of  evil;  yet  there  are 
certain  elements  in  her  discourse  which  have  appealed 


[34] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


to  me  so  plausibly  that  I  cannot  think  them  wholly 
bad.  If  only  it  were  possible  to  separate  the  true 
from  the  false!" 

"Avuso,  Friend,"  said  Bharadvajo  solemnly, 
"your  purpose  is  good,  but  you  know  nothing  of  the 
world's  ways.  You  attribute  to  this  girl  and  her 
whims  a  dignity  which  is  wholly  imaginary.  Her 
freedom  of  manner  proves  that  she  is  no  decent 
woman.  She  is  a  mere  ganika,  a  vesiya,  a  vannadasi, 
a  rupupajivini — a  woman  of  the  same  sort  as 
Ambapali — 

"Whose  invitation  to  dine  was  accepted  by  the 
Blessed  One,"  interrupted  Revato  for  the  sake  of 
argument. 

"The  Blessed  One,"  replied  Bharadvajo,  "took 
his  disciples  with  him  and  he  taught  her  the  way  of 
deliverance.  Let  us  hope  that  your  new  acquaint 
ance  may  reach  as  saintly  an  old  age  in  the  cloister 
as  did  that  lady  Amba." 

"Adhivasetha — excuse  me — bhante,  but  I  think 
you  quite  fail  to  understand  her.  You  declare  that 
I  know  nothing  of  the  world's  ways,  but  she  belongs 
to  a  world  of  which  you  know  nothing,  and  its  ways 
may  be  different  from  those  of  our  own. — Now, 
bhante,  let  me  ask  your  advice  upon  another  ques 


tion.  Would  it  be  well  for  me  to  visit  the  new 
sangharama?" 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  it  is  being  built  by  the  Yonas." 

"Not  by  a  Yonaki  girl.  You  cannot  avoid  her 
race  in  these  days  while  at  Pataliputta.  It  would 
be  wrong  to  deny  yourself  this  opportunity  for 
observation,  since  knowledge  is  beneficial  to  us  if  it 
be  the  right  sort." 

We  should  belie  Revato's  astuteness  were  we  to 
dissimulate  that  he  recognized  in  the  mention  of 
Yonakas  and  their  works  a  temptation.  There  is, 
however,  no  great  difficulty  in  stealing  a  march  on 
conscience  when  the  overt  act  is  to  be  immediate 
or  no  hours  of  darkness  and  deliberation  must  first 
be  wrestled  through.  His  chance  of  meeting  the 
King  at  the  new  abbey  was  supplemented  by  other 
plausible  considerations,  as,  namely  that  he  ought 
dutifully  to  acquaint  himself  with  all  that  pertained 
to  his  religion.  So  it  was  that  Revato  set  out  that 
same  afternoon  for  the  Parayana  sangharama.  The 
searching  eye  of  Buddho,  had  it  been  in  Pataliputta 
rather  than  in  Nibbana,  might  have  detected  a 
certain  celerity  in  his  movements,  as  if  he  appre 
hended  that  delay  would  change  his  mind. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  PARAYANA  SANGHARAMA 


THE  CHAPTER  HOUSE 

Thus  of  yore  spake  the  Venerable  Pingiyo  to  the 
Brahmin  Bavari: 

I  will  tell  the  way  which  tendeth 
To  that  Fair  and  Further  Isle. 
As  he  saw  it,  so  he  told  it — 
Sapient,  without  defile, 
Passionless,  desireless  Master — 
Wherefore  would  he  speak  with  guile? 

Doubt-dispelling,  deep  discerning, 
Everywhere  his  eye  can  see. 
World-revealing,  all-prevailing, 
Pure  and  painless,  calm  and  free. 
He,  the  true,  the  glorious  Buddho, 
Came,  O  Brahmana,  to  me. 

As  the  wood-bird  finds  the  forest 

From  her  bush-entangled  nide, 

As  the  wild-fowl  quits  the  marshes 

For  the  ocean,  deep  and  wide, 

I  have  left  my  trifling  comrades 

And  have  reached  the  Boundless  Tide. 

There  is  one  alone  unchanging, 
From  whose  face  the  darkness  flies, 
High-born,  luminously  beaming, 
Uncompared,  beyond  comprise — 
Gotamo,  the  far-perceiving, 
Gotamo,  the  very  wise. 

Vigilant,  with  eye  of  sprit, 
I  behold  him  night  and  day — 
Clear,  O  Brahmana,  behold  him — 
So  I  do  not  think  I  stray. 
All  the  night  I  spend  adoring; 
Can  he  then  be  far  away? 


Though  my  flesh  be  worn  and  wasted, 
Though  my  carnal  eye  be  dim, 
Though  my  body  cannot  follow, 
For  I  totter,  weak  of  limb. 
Forth  in  mind  and  thought  I  travel 
And  my  heart  is  joined  to  him. 

In  the  mire  of  old  I  struggled, 
None  to  save  or  to  redeem, 
Frantic  leapt  from  isle  to  island — 
Then  I  saw  Sambuddho's  gleam, 
Who  has  broken  loose  from  passion 
And  has  crossed  beyond  the  stream. 

The  Blessed  One  (appearing  in  splendor) 

Vakkali  by  faith  crossed  over, 

Alavi-Gotamo  just  as  he, 

And  Bhadravudho  the  Brahmin; 

So  shall  faith  deliver  thee; 

Where  the  Further  Shore  is  waiting, 

From  the  Death-land  thou  shalt  flee. 


Pingiyo: 


I  have  heard  the  voice  of  Buddho; 
Happily  his  word  I  hail. 
He,  the  Perfectly  Enlightened, 
Has  removed  the  darkening  veil. 
Never  yet  he  spake  unkindly 
And  his  wisdom  cannot  fail. 

There  is  nowhere  in  the  god-world 
That  his  reason  has  not  been, 
Not  a  fact  whereof  the  Master 
Has  not  pierced  the  origin, 
He  will  end  the  doubters'  questions 
If  they  will  but  let  him  in. 


[35] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


To  the  Matchless,  to  the  Changeless, 
Straight  my  voyage  lies  before; 
I  will  surely  reach  the  Refuge 
Where  my  doubting  will  be  o'er 
And  relinquish  all  returnings 
On  that  formless  Further  Shore. 

On  the  north  of  the  city  of  Pataliputta  is  a  gate  in 
its  high  sala-wood  wall  known  as  Gotamo's  Gate, 
and  beyond  it  a  landing  on  Ganga  riverside  called 
Gotamo's  Ferry.  By  this  route,  the  Buddho  pro 
ceeded  to  Vesali  and  still  northward  to  his  final 
resting  place  at  Kusinara.  In  the  allegory,  while 
others  sought  for  boats  and  for  rafts  of  wood  or 
basket-work,  he  vanished  from  this  side  of  the  river 
and  reappeared  on  that.  As  he  crossed,  he  broke 
forth  into  this  song  of  triumph: 

Ye  taranti  annavang  sarang  setum  katvana  visajja  pallalani 
Kullang  hi  jano  bandhati  tinna  medvavino  jana. 

(Treading  o'er  the  fields  of  water,  vast  and  vague,  of  Trans 
migration — 

Basket  floats  while  fools  are  building — so  the  wise  attain 
Salvation.) 

Through  Gotamo's  Gate  Revato  went  down  to  the 
river  bank  at  Gotamo's  Ferry.  On  an  island  in 
mid-stream,  some  distance  below,  he  descried  the 
Parayana  sangharama.  The  water  of  the  recent 
rains,  now  coming  down  from  up  country,  had 
swollen  the  mother  of  rivers  quite  to  a  kakapeyya, 
"crow-drinking,"  stage,  whereat  any  sombre  bird 
might  quench  his  thirst  from  the  very  top  of  her 
bank.  Her  waves  almost  lapped  the  white  walls  of 
the  buildings,  whose  rigorous  lines  were  shattered 
by  reflection  in  the  rapid,  swirling  water.  One  high 
rectangular  structure  could  be  seen  above  the  others 
of  the  group. 

Revato  found  a  Sudda  boatman,  Naditariko, 
willing  to  ferry  him  across  for  the  tarika,  or  fare,  of 
a  kahapana,  which  was  claimed  to  be  only  reasonable 
in  view  of  the  abnormal  current.  Revato  bid  one- 
tenth  of  that  sum — two  masakas.  A  bargain  was 
struck  on  a  pada  and  a  half,  a  pada  being  equal  to 
five  masakas. 

They  allowed  themselves  to  drift  with  the  current 
to  the  upper  end  of  the  island  and  landed  on  a  wharf 
much  encumbered  with  building  materials,  as  was 
the  ground  everywhere.  Conforming  to  the  shape  of 
the  land,  the  sangharama  was  laid  out  on  the  plan 
of  two  elongated  rectangles  adjoining  end  for  end. 
The  first,  and  smaller  one,  Revato  entered  at  an 
opening  which  would  probably  be  the  great  gate. 
On  either^  side  of  the  entrance  were  pillars  sur 
mounted  by  mayura  birds,  peacocks,  in  honor  of  the 
Moriya  dynasty;  singularly  inappropriate  here, 
they  seemed  to  him.  He  found  himself  in  a  court 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  solid  rows  of  viharas  or 
parivenas,  cells  for  individual  monks,  each  with  its 
door  opening  to  the  enclosure.  Instead  of  brick  or 
rough-dressed  stone  set  in  mortar  and  ornately 
plastered  with  sudha,  stucco,  these  viharas  were 
built  of  smooth  marble  blocks,  neatly  fitted  and  with 
simple  adornments,  which  seemed  merely  a  develop 


ment  of  the  structural  plan.  The  roofs  of  the  several 
cells  were  not  domed  or  arched  with  flat-laid  stones, 
but  formed  low  gables  of  slabs  laid  on  rafters. 
Each  doorway  broadened  toward  the  bottom.  In 
spite  of  their  unpretentiousness,  the  long  glistening 
white  lines  of  masonry  were  delightful  to  gaze  upon. 
Around  the  monastery  close,  and  lining  the  rows  of 
cells,  was  intended  to  run  a  cloistered  walk  bordered 
by  fluted  columns,  a  few  of  which  were  already 
in  place.  This  porch  would,  no  doubt,  be  used  as 
a  cangkana,  or  promenade,  for  fervent  meditations. 

Not  all  of  the  rooms,  however,  were  for  individual 
dwelling  purposes.  Some  larger  ones  were  obviously 
designed  for  the  necessary  communal  offices  of  the 
chapter.  Such  were  the  salakagga,  or  office  for  dis 
tributing  food  checks;  the  bhattagga,  refectory;  the 
kotthaka,  or  cellary  for  provisions;  the  jantaghara,  or 
bathhouse,  with  its  dressing  room;  the  khuragga, 
or  hall  of  tonsure;  the  bhandagara,  or  store  room, 
and  the  shops  for  dyeing  and  tailoring  of  robes.  The 
aggisala,  fire  room  or  kitchen,  was,  according  to 
Buddho's  commandment,  or  a  quibble  concerning  it, 
set  apart  from  the  other  buildings. 

In  the  center  of  this  enclosure  had  been  built  a 
massive  platform  of  masonry  reached  by  flights  of 
steps,  on  which  foundation  was  beginning  to  arise 
the  great  thupa  to  enshrine  the  Buddho  relics. 
Sculptured  blocks  now  lying  on  the  ground  testified 
that  it  would  be  constructed  of  the  same  immaculate 
material  as  the  parivenas.  Beside  the  thupa  was  a 
huge  block  of  granite  newly  chiseled  with  a  colossal 
footprint,  northward  pointed,  which  symbolized  the 
memorable  crossing  of  Buddho  to  the  Further  Shore. 

There  were  as  yet  no  signs  of  the  great  pictorially 
carved  railing  which  would  be  erected  in  front  of  the 
thupa  if  it  followed  the  precedent  of  such  monuments 
elsewhere.  But  precedents  of  Jambudipa  were  being 
recklessly  disregarded  in  the  architecture  of  this 
sangharama. 

A  gateway  at  the  further  end  of  the  first  quad 
rangle  admitted  to  a  still  larger  area  enclosed,  though 
as  yet  only  in  part,  by  cellular  walls  similar  to  the 
former.  Here  Revato  encountered  the  greatest 
innovation,  not  only  of  style  but  of  general  arrange 
ment.  The  middle  of  this  court  was  usurped  by  a 
large,  tall  building  standing  isolated  from  all  others. 
It  was  the  one  which  he  had  noticed,  from  the  city, 
towering  above  the  viharas  and  he  had  been  puzzled 
to  determine  its  purpose. 

From  Buddho's  own  time  a  necessary  part  of  all 
monasteries  had  been  the  places  where  the  chapter 
held  its  conventicles.  Under  the  name  Sabbath 
House,  it  served  for  the  solemn  assemblies  of  the 
brethren  on  days  of  the  full  and  new  moon  to  recite 
the  Commandments  and  make  confession  of  inno- 
cency.  Known  as  the  Hall  of  Truth,  it  was  used  for 
exposition  purposes,  while  its  appellations,  Session 
Room,  Service  Hall,  or  simply  Sala,  Hall,  indicated 
that  it  formed  the  general  rallying  place  of  the 
monastic  chapter.  It  had  been  considered  available 
even  for  use  as  a  dining  room,  so  that  the  associa- 


[36] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


tions  of  the  building  were  eminently  practical  and 
there  was  little  awe  connected  with  it.  Architec 
turally,  it  had  not  been  prominently  distinguished, 
but  was  often  built  as  a  wing  to  the  vihara  quad 
rangle. 

Naturally,  Revato  presumed  the  building  in  the 
middle  of  the  court  to  be  such  a  sala,  a  conjecture 
which  later  was  confirmed.  But  its  glorification  was 
puzzling,  not  to  say  suspicious.  At  any  rate,  this 
structure  was  now  being  treated  by  its  builders  as 
the  chief  work  of  the  monastery,  barring  perhaps  the 
unfinished  relic  thupa,  and  its  exterior  challenged 
attention.  The  building  extended  to  a  length  of 
about  fifteen  dhanus,  bow-lengths,  with  a  width  of 
perhaps  ten  bows,  and  a  height  of  thirty  cubits.  It 
was  surrounded  by  a  peristyle  of  fluted  marble 
pillars  which  supported  the  overhanging  obtuse, 
gabled  roof.  When  close  to  these  columns,  so  that 
he  could  run  his  eye  along  them,  Revato  noticed  that 
they  were  not  straight,  but  bulged  out  in  the  middle, 
an  error  which  must  be  condoned  by  the  otherwise 
faultless  design.  The  ghatakas,  "pots,"  forming 
the  column  heads  were  wrought  around  with  embrac 
ing  leaves  of  the  padumaka,  the  lotus  pattern;  a 
familiar  and  appropriate  emblem  novelly  applied. 

As  a  crowning  feature,  the  pediments  and  wide 
belts  under  the  eaves  above  the  architraves  formed 
a  cittagara,  picture  gallery,  being  carved  with  de 
signs  in  low  relief,  which  ran  as  a  chain  of  imagery 
around  the  building.  The  white  figures  high  in  air 
stood  out  from  a  background  stained  red  as  an 
indagopaka  bug,  and  they  were  embellished  here 
and  there  with  metal  mountings  which  constituted 
parts  of  the  pictorial  design.  There  was,  however, 
a  peculiar  absence  of  those  redundant  details  and 
ornaments  which  crowded  the  background  in  native 
mural  sculptures;  and,  as  defined  upon  their  colored 
setting,  the  forms  looked  meagre.  This  crudity  was 
forgotten  as  the  eye  became  accustomed  to  it,  and 
the  excellences  of  the  method  constantly  grew  upon 
the  beholder.  How  unrelated  were  the  figures  here 
sculptured  to  the  familiar  ones  based  on  the  old 
wood-carving  style  and  still  wooden  in  their  articu 
lations!  These  groups  were  not  boxed  in  as  medal 
lions  nor  separated  by  vine  work,  but  flowed  on 
continuously,  in  bold,  graceful,  vivacious  lines. 
They  did  not  look  like  images  at  all,  but  like  real 
men  and  animals  and  trees  which  had  been  reborn  in 
miniature  with  the  pure  white  Ariya  color.  They 
appeared  to  be  alive  and  in  motion,  so  that  one 
fancied  he  could  follow  their  movements,  and  when 
he  glanced  away,  he  was  surprised  to  find,  upon 
restoring  his  look,  that  their  limbs  were  still  in  the 
same  position  as  before.  Revato  happened  to  notice 
that  the  lower  part  of  the  frieze  was  carved  in  less 
relief  than  the  upper,  whether  due  to  convenience  or 
negligence  on  the  part  of  the  sculptor,  but  it  did  not 
harm  the  general  eflect  unless  one  were  thinking 
about  it. 

The  decorated  meeting  house  thus  bore  such  a 
wealth  of  imagery  as,  of  old,  Vissakammo  had 

[37] 


wrought  upon  the  enchanted  car  of  Ravano.  It 
was  not  frivolous  ornamentation,  but  replete  with 
story  and  instruction.  Reaching  around  the  great 
edifice  it  embodied  long  histories  of  manifold  inci 
dent  and  spirit.  The  groups  formed  a  procession  so 
skillfully  arranged  that  through  all  the  transitions  of 
scene  ran  a  pictorial  unity. 

Less  mystery  attached  to  the  symbolism  of  the 
carvings  than  might  have  been  the  case  had  not 
Revato  come  prepared  to  interpret  them.  They 
were  representations  of  Jataka,  or  Birth  tales,  that 
vast  collection  of  old  marvel  stories,  dear  to  the 
heart  of  every  Buddhist,  who  has  learned  them  as  a 
child,  which  depict  the  wanderings  of  Bodhisatto, 
the  pre-incarnate  lord,  in  manifold  epiphanies  on 
his  long  road  to  Buddhahood. 


THE  JATAKA  FRIEZE 

A  royal  stag  lays  his  head  on  the  slayer's  block  to  save  the  life 
of  doe. 

A  lion  and  bull  are  fighting,  watched  by  a  jackal  who  has 
brought  it  about  by  slanderous  report  to  each  of  the  other's 
sentiments. 

Some  monkeys  deputed  by  a  gardener  to  water  young  trees 
are  economizing  the  water  by  first  pulling  up  the  trees  to  observe 
the  size  of  the  roots. 

A  murderous,  giant  crab  lets  go  of  a  captured  elephant's  foot 
because  entranced  by  the  sweet  feminine  song  of  the  mate. 

A  deer  by  the  pool-side,  snared  in  a  noose  which  cuts  him  to 
the  bone  yet  refrains  from  crying  out  until  his  fellows  shall  have 
slaked  their  thirst. 

A  cat,  licking  the  gore  of  poultry  on  her  chops,  sits  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree  making  amorous  eyes  at  a  coy  and  wary  cock  perched  on 
a  limb.  Diplomatically  he  pleads  his  disapproval  of  miscegena 
tion. 

Monkeys  are  escaping  from  tree  to  tree  on  a  bridge  built  by 
one  of  their  number,  and  of  which  he  forms  a  part;  but  a  traitor 
among  them,  the  pre-incarnate  Devadatto,  leaps  on  his  back  to 
destroy  him. 

A  garlanded  elephant  stands  weeping.  In  the  forest  he  saved 
the  life  of  a  forester,  who  subsequently  betrayed  him;  whereupon 
suppressing  his  anger  he  submitted  without  resistance  to  the 
hunters.  But  in  his  gilded  captivity  he  remembers  that  his  poor 
blind  mother  will  now  have  no  one  to  bring  her  the  sweet  wild 
fruit. 

Men  with  clubs  are  slaughtering  poor  lean  dogs,  while  sleek 
dogs  in  golden  collars  look  on.  The  king's  hounds  have  gnawed 
his  chariot  harness,  and,  unsuspecting  the  real  culprits,  he  has 
decreed  slaughter  of  all  the  canines  in  the  city. 

An  injudicious  lad  is  engaged  with  an  axe  in  killing  a  mosquito 
which  had  settled  on  his  father's  bald  head. 

A  monk  is  eating  scraps  left  by  a  dog,  and  a  woman  who  was 
his  wife  in  his  worldly  days,  stands  by  reproaching  him;  he  replies 
that  any  food  honestly  obtained  is  right  to  feed  on. 

A  ram,  with  head  lowered,  is  about  to  charge  a  monk  who 
stands  delighted  at  the  reverent  obeisance.  "In  the  whole  world, 
this  ram  alone  recognizes  my  merits." 

An  ascetic  is  lamenting  over  the  dead  body  of  a  young  elephant, 
though  he  has  lived  down  regret  for  his  relinquished  wife  and 
children. 

Workmen  with  saws  are  cutting  off  the  ends  of  a  stake  thrust 
through  a  monk's  body.  He  was  condemned  on  a  mistaken 
charge  of  theft,  in  moral  retribution  for  impaling  a  fly  in  a  former 
life,  but  by  his  freedom  from  resentment  while  writhing  in  his 
torture  he  has  led  the  king  to  release  him,  and  since  the  officers 
cannot  get  the  stake  out  of  him,  they  are  making  it  as  convenient 
for  him  as  possible.  Henceforth  he  will  be  known  as  "Mandavyo 
of  the  Peg. " 

A  wretch  impaled  on  a  stake  for  stealing  flowers,  that  his  wife 
might  be  adorned  for  a  festival,  is  sad  of  countenance  because  she 
must  miss  the  party. 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


A  foolish  mourning  widower  is  gazing  down  at  a  maggot,  his 
former  wife,  who  in  company  with  her  new  husband,  tells  him  how 
happy  she  has  become. 

A  barber  finds  a  gray  hair  in  the  head  of  a  king,  which  betokens 
the  time  that  he  shall  renounce  the  world  and  prepare  for  death. 

Here  sits  a  man  with  his  eyeball  bulging  from  its  socket  while  a 
surgeon  applies  a  sharp  drug  to  make  it  protrude  farther  and 
prepares  with  a  lancet  to  sever  the  tendon.  It  is  King  Sivi  giving 
his  eyes  to  a  poor,  blind  Brahmin.  Revato  knows  the  harrowing 
details  of  the  long-drawn-out  operation  and  the  friendly  remon 
strances  meanwhile  which  Sivi  overcomes  by  his  determination. 

A  young  prince  is  seated  with  drooping  head,  silent.  Those 
around  him  are  trying  in  every  way  to  rouse  him.  The  sword- 
play,  the  dance,  the  soft  charms  of  beauty,  fail  to  attract  his 
attention.  Even  pans  of  fire  do  not  make  him  writhe.  He 
remembers  the  unutterably  more  agonizing  flames  of  hell  wherein 
he  dwelt  for  ages,  and  that  is  the  cause  of  melancholy  which  has 
possessed  him  from  infancy.  When  he  hears  the  king  sentence  a 
robber  to  a  thousand  strokes  with  barbed  whips,  and  other  felons 
to  various  cruel  punishments,  he  reflects:  "My  father  is  guilty 
of  a  grievous  action  which  brings  men  to  hell."  Thus  he  comes 
to  manhood  silent  and  dead  to  the  world  except  in-so-far  as  it 
concerns  eternal  agony. 

Such  were  among  the  many  little  histories  sug 
gested  in  the  carvings,  whose  meagreness  of  detail 
Revato's  mind  could  supply.  In  each  of  them  the 
Bodhisatto  should  have  figured  nobly,  not  always 
as  the  chief  actor,  but  frequently  as  a  wise  arbiter, 
and  the  sculptor  should  have  brought  out  the  pious, 
often  unexpected  moral  of  the  tale.  But  these 
religious  purposes  had  often  been  subordinated  to 
artistic  and  dramatic  effect,  so  that  the  pictures 
were  spiritually  valuable  only  as  reminders  to  those 
who  already  knew  the  entire  stories. 

So  far  as  Revato  had  now  observed  them,  the 
incidents  had  chiefly  been  chosen  from  among  the 
cynical,  the  sad,  and  the  ascetic  narratives  of  the 
collection,  some  of  them  more  after  his  own  heart 
than,  he  guessed,  after  that  of  the  Yonaka  artist. 
But  he  had  been  following  the  line  from  the  rear  end 
of  the  building;  as  he  approached  its  front  the 
scenes  changed  in  character.  They  became  more 
optimistic,  more  worldly,  more  voluptuous,  more 
heroic.  Such  qualities  were  readily  found  in  the 
Jatakas  by  neglecting  the  moral  conclusions  and 
dwelling  on  episodes,  irrespective  of  context.  This, 
it  seemed,  must  have  been  the  sculptor's  deliberate 
purpose.  Preference  was  given  to  such  stirring 
incidents  as  the  following: 

A  war  horse  lay  pierced  by  an  arrow,  and  while 
men  attempted  to  remove  his  armor  of  mail,  he 
raised  his  head  in  vigorous  protest.  He  had  been 
smitten  by  a  dart  after  bearing  the  knight,  his  rider, 
to  the  capture  of  six  kings;  and  now  to  attack  the 
seventh. he  must  be  replaced  by  a  hack!  His  en 
treaty  was  destined  to  prevail;  he  would  carry  his 
rider  to  victory  and  would  pay  for  it  with  his  life; 
and  before  dying  he  would  prevail  upon  the  knight's 
royal  master  to  spare  the  lives  of  the  conquered 
kings. 

But  the  plastic  interpretation  glorified  rather 
the  martial  spirit  of  this  exploit  than  its  charitable 
climax. 

Briefly  then,  as  one  followed  the  frieze  from  rear 
to  front,  he  read  its  motive  to  show  a  growth  and 


exaltation  of  military  virtues,  majestic  attributes 
and  wordly  vanities,  rather  than  of  kindness, 
humility  and  self-sacrifice.  Parallel  to  the  progress 
of  the  Bodhisatto,  as  traced  from  lower  to  higher 
forms  of  life,  the  designer  had  indicated  a  develop 
ment  of  morals  from  meekness  to  pride. 

The  technical  method,  however,  of  reaching  a 
culmination  was  admirable.  In  the  center  of  the 
front  pediment  stood  the  Wisdom  Tree  of  Buddho, 
before  which  all  manner  of  creatures,  human, 
mundane  and  supernatural — men,  elephants,  mon 
keys,  birds,  fishes,  snakes,  nagas,  yakkhas,  maras, 
devas  and  brahmas — were  bowed,  adoring.  Thus 
the  long  procession  on  each  side  of  the  building  had 
been  moving  toward  the  goal  of  Buddhahood — a 
perfect  allegory  of  an  old  and  familiar  doctrine. 

THE  FALSE  BUDDHO 

It  was  a  revelation  to  Revato  that  life  could  be  so 
deceitfully  mimicked  in  the  surface  of  stone.  A 
bright  new  world  opened  to  him,  a  world  of  art, 
strange  but  not  weird,  rather  sane  and  true,  yet 
infinitely  removed  from  the  commonplace.  In  it 
were  realized  those  ideals  whereof  the  lute  girl  on 
the  gem  had  been  a  shadowy  type. 

Despite  the  novelty  of  treatment,  his  familiarity 
with  the  manifold  subject  had  enabled  him  to  follow 
it  through  its  graceful  changes  along  the  wall, 
charmed  again  and  again  at  the  fresh  suggestiveness 
which  had  been  drawn  from  themes  to  him  so 
hackneyed. 

Having  surveyed  the  exterior  of  the  sala,  Revato 
passed  inside.  He  found  the  usual  tokens  of  in- 
completion,  obstructive  scaffolding,  ropes,  levers, 
tools  and  debris  of  marble  and  mortar.  Several 
Yonaka  foremen  were  impatiently  directing  the 
labors  of  their  numerous  native  helpers  or  per 
forming  with  their  own  hands  those  finer  works  in 
which  their  skill  could  not  be  delegated. 

"Re!  re!  Heigh  there!  Do  they  allow  visitors?" 
Revato  asked  of  a  dark-skinned  journeyman. 

"Not  if  they  suit  themselves,  ayya — lord — but 
you  can  stay  until  they  drive  you  out." 

The  unobtrusive  deportment  of  Revato,  however, 
preserved  him  from  molestation  and  he  wandered 
about  in  the  building. 

The  interior  walls  were  much  plainer  than  the 
outside.  Against  the  south  one  stood  a  stone  dias 
intended  for  the  abbot  presiding  at  the  meetings  of 
the  chapter.  In  the  middle  of  the  hall  rose  a  higher 
and  grander  throne,  with  its  back  toward  a  large 
central  column  and  facing  the  East. 

Lo!  thereupon  sat  a  marble  patima,  or  image,  of 
Buddho  in  his  favorite  posture,  with  one  leg  folded 
on  the  other,  meditative  and  self-possessed.  The 
effigy  was  not  colossal,  but  it  was  modelled  to 
depict  the  ultimate  of  man's  symmetry  and  strength. 
Transcending,  however,  such  merely  mortal  nature, 
it  wore  a  mien  revealing  superhuman  power  and 
unapproachable,  godlike  majesty.  This  was  utterly 
foreign  to  the  Buddho  pictured  in  the  minds  of  his 


[38] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


true  disciples,  a  being  who,  however  deep  in  dis 
cerning  sapiency  and  unbounded  in  pitying  benig 
nity,  was  yet  intensely  human.  Admire  as  he  might 
this  marvel  of  art,  Revato  could  not  but  feel  an 
aversion  from  it,  as  if  it  had  deprived  him  of  a 
friend.  Then  he  noticed  that  the  image  was  set  on 
its  lotus-throne  like  an  idol  in  a  temple.  This  was 
most  incongruous  with  the  purpose  of  the  place. 
The  sculptors  of  old  time  had  been  content  to  sym 
bolize  the  Master  by  his  Wisdom  Tree,  although 
that  custom  did  not  prove  an  attempt  to  depict  the 
lineaments  of  the  Blessed  One  to  be  improper.  It 
was  especially  fitting  that  in  the  chamber  where  his 
disciples  were  now  to  meet  in  conclave,  as  their 
predecessors  had  so  often  met  with  the  living  Bud 
dho  for  their  moderator,  the  likeness  of  his  presence 
should  remain  before  them  in  the  place  of  his 
accustomed  seat,  a  seat  which,  however,  would  have 
been  represented  by  a  mat  better  than  by  a  high 
throne.  Notwithstanding  his  entry  into  the  ineffable 
Nibbana,  he  still  lived  and  breathed  for  them  in  the 
precepts  which  were  their  rule  and  guide  of  life; 
perhaps  it  was  right  that  they  should  employ  a  help 
ful  graphical  method  of  realizing  the  soul  resident 
in  the  doctrine.  But  to  couple  this  reverent  mind- 
fulness  of  their  teacher  with  adoration  was  an  abuse 
which  would  have  made  him  sad. 

The  Buddho  patima  was  yet  unfinished,  and  one 
of  the  skilled  Yonas  was  even  then  engaged  in 
chipping  its  lineaments  into  perfect  form.  Near  by 
stood  another  of  his  race,  whom,  in  spite  of  rough, 
dusty  clothes,  Revato  readily  singled  out  as  the 
master.  He  was  a  man  some  few  years  Revato's 
senior,  of  hugh,  magnificent  build,  with  full,  ruddy 
face,  curly  brown  hair,  and  beard,  also  curly,  trimmed 
round.  He  scrutinized  Revato  with  a  searching 
look.  There  seemed  to  be  something  in  the  aspect 
of  the  young  Magadhan  that  appealed  to  him  not 
unfavorably.  It  may  have  been  the  well  bred 
Khattiya's  confident  bearing  or  his  color,  almost  as 
light  as  the  Yonaka's;  at  any  rate  the  architect 
elected  to  greet  him  with  a  civil  commonplace 
remark: 

"Do  our  efforts  upon  your  new  chapel  meet  your 
approbation?" 

"They  are  worthy,  Sir,  of  the  heavenly  architect 
Vissakammo  who  built  the  bridge  to  Tambapan- 
nidipa  and  the  splendid  city  of  Lanka;  who  created 
also  the  Palace  of  Righteousness  for  the  Great  King 
of  Glory.  But  what  most  have  won  my  admiration 
are  the  Jataka  images.  Since  I  was  taught  the 
stories  by  the  monks  as  a  child,  they  have  been  filled 
for  me  with  living  people,  but  I  never  before  felt 
their  animation  so  much  as  to-day." 

"They  are  alive,"  answered  the  architect,  pleased 
with  Revato's  compliment,  "they  live  as  an  essential 
element  in  your  nation  from  antiquity — who  knows 
how  great?  They  are  a  precious  treasure  for  any 
race  to  possess,  for  by  them  it  proves  its  true  race- 
hood.  You  have  little  idea  how  long  study  Aristo- 
crates,  my  chief  sculptor,  and  I  spent  in  familiarizing 

[39] 


ourselves  with  the  Jatakas  before  we  attempted  to 
express  any  of  them  in  stone.  The  process  is  vital, 
not  mechanical;  the  idea  must  become  a  part  of  self 
and  then  self  reproduces  itself." 

"You  treat  them  more  seriously  than  I  supposed," 
said  Revato.  "The  stories  are  so  very  simple; 
besides,  few  of  the  scenes  that  you  have  selected 
contain  a  deep  religious  significance." 

"You  confound  religion  with  philosophy,  I  fear," 
replied  Diomedes.  "Philosophy  is  labored  and 
individual,  Religion  is  nai've  and  racial;  for  that 
reason  it  is  the  harder  to  grasp  if  the  form  has  all 
one's  life  been  familiar  but  the  spirit  has  remained 
a  stranger." 

"Is  this  like  your  buildings  in  Yonaloka?" 
inquired  Revato. 

"So  far  as  fitness  allows.  An  exact  copy  of  our 
style  would  be  absurd.  The  lotus-leaved  capitals, 
which  you  may  have  noticed  on  the  columns  of  the 
portico,  are  of  new  design.  Agreeably  to  your 
Eastern  taste,  I  selected  our  most  ornate  type,  but 
it  was  necessary  to  substitute  for  the  acanthus 
leaves,  which  we  imitate,  some  foliage  pattern  that 
would  be  at  home  in  Magadha.  How  are  you 
pleased  with  the  statue  of  Buddho?" 

"It  is  magnificent,"  Revato  answered,  "but 
totally  unlike  the  great  Teacher  as  I  have  always 
thought  of  him.  You  have  made  him  look  like  a 
god." 

"You  satisfy  me  with  praise!"  exclaimed  Di 
omedes.  "It  is  a  god  that  I  have  sought  to  make 
him." 

"Surely,  then,  you  cannot  have  given  the  same 
attention  to  the  Suttas  that  you  have  spent  upon 
the  Jatakas,  for  if  you  had,  you  would  perceive  how 
alien  is  the  Blessed  One  from  such  an  imagery." 

"Be  assured  that  I  did  not  lay  the  corner  stone — 
the  mangalitthaka,  'auspicious  brick,'  as  you  would 
say — of  the  sangharama  before  I  had  made  my 
self  adept  in  all  the  learning  of  your  religion.  Do 
not  I  speak  your  language  fairly  well?  This  dex 
terity  was  gained  chiefly  in  doctrinal  converse  with 
your  monks.  It  is  because  I  have  seen  and  felt  for 
myself  the  divinity  inherent  in  Gotamo  Buddho 
that  I  have  sought  to  do  him  the  tardy  justice  of 
giving  it  expression. 

"I  fear  that  you  will  increase  the  growing  ten 
dency  of  the  people  to  worship  him,"  Revato 
objected. 

"Of  course,  men  beholding  this  image  will  be 
impelled  to  bow  down  before  it,  and  they  will  be 
inspired  to  high  endeavor." 

"Not  height,  but  lowliness,"  said  Revato,  "was 
taught  by  the  Master.  His  life  was  spent  in  toil 
some  wanderings  and  humble  labors  of  persuasion. 
Habitually,  he  called  himself  the  Tathagato,  the 
Likewise-Goer,  he  that  cometh  and  passeth  away  as 
do  other  men*." 

*While  a  doubt  of  interpretation  condones  it,  I  like  to  retain 
this  favorite  old  one  with  the  humble  self-ascription. 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"In  his  mildness  there  is  strength,"  replied 
Diomedes,  "and  in  his  humility  there  is  the  power  of 
a  great  god.  Let  his  true  nature  be  revealed.  You 
Buddhists  must  come  to  your  own.  You  are  worse 
off  than  the  Brahmins,  who,  whatever  be  their 
foolishness,  possess  great,  majestic  devas.  We 
Hellenes  know  what  it  is  to  have  gods,  the  noblest 
of  all  the  world.  Have  you  never  heard  of  Zeus  or 
of  Poseidon,  of  Hera  or  of  Pallas?" 

"It  seems  to  me,  Sir,  that  you  are  playing  with 
fond  ideas.  Do  you  truly  believe  in  the  existence 
of  your  gods,  and  if  so,  why?  How  can  you  take 
for  granted  those  of  Jambudipa  and  even  one  whom 
you  are  imagining  and  constructing  for  yourself?" 

"Do  I  believe  in  my  gods?  Ask  me  whether  I 
believe  in  my  state  and  in  my  city.  Ask  whether  I 
believe  in  my  father  and  mother,  my  schoolmasters 
and  my  boon  friends.  Ask  me  whether  I  believe  in 
sun  and  moon,  in  rain  and  snow,  in  winter  and 
harvest!  My  nation  and  my  nation's  deities  are 
inseparable;  if  one  be  true,  so  are  both.  How  then 
dare  I  deny  the  gods  which  stand  likewise  in  the 
history  of  an  ancient,  noble  people  such  as  the 
Ariyas?  How  shall  I  fail  to  perceive  the  Divinity 
who  resides  in  that  choicest  flower  of  the  Ariyan 
Land,  your  Buddhist  cult?" 

"We,  Buddhists,"  remarked  Revato,  "have  gods 
enough  and  to  spare.  Have  you  never  learned  the 
nomenclature  of  our  many  Brahmalokas  and 
Devalokas  with  their  teeming  populations?  The 
Teacher  made  plain  to  us,  however,  that  these  beings 
are  no  more  worthy  of  devotion  than  ourselves." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  builder,  "you  have  purloined 
the  deities  of  the  old  religion  only  to  treat  them  with 
a  contempt  that  is  worse  than  denial.  You  alluded, 
a  moment  ago,  to  Vissakammo,  the  heavenly  archi 
tect  and  artist.  You  would  never  think  of  praying 
to  him,  would  you?  Now  behold  how  differently 
you  and  I  look  at  such  matters.  Every  morning,  as  I 
enter  this  building,  before  I  begin  work,  I  implore 
his  divine  will  to  direct  my  mind  and  eye,  just  as  I 
would  seek  that  of  Athene  if  I  were  still  in  Hellas." 

"Then  you  seek  assistance  from  one  who  is  less 
able  to  aid  your  skill  than  your  meanest  Sudda 
laborer  or  Candala  outcaste." 

"By  what  power,"  asked  Diomedes,  "do  you  think 
that  my  skill  is  created?" 

"By  the  power  of  Kamma,  Past  Deeds,  acting 
effectively  according  to  the  Saddhamma,  the  Perfect 
Law,  which  Buddho  perceived  and  expounded  to  the 
world.". 

"Then  you  assume  a  law  to  be  ultimate  authority 
— that  there  is  nothing  behind  it  to  which  it  owes 
its  existence?" 

"I  make  no  such  assumption,"  answered  Revato 
after  hesitation.  "But  if  ever  I  try  to  think  of  the 
Causal  Power  that  can  account  for  all  which  exists, 
I  am  stupefied  by  the  wonder  of  the  idea  which  I 
feel,  but  cannot  grasp.  The  Blessed  One,  as  you 
know,  disapproved  of  such  speculations.  He  had 
seen  in  our  country  too  many  fruitless  flowers  of 


imagination  which  run  riot  in  the  regions  beyond  all 
worlds.  Some  learned  doctors  spend  their  time 
arguing  that  the  world  was  self-produced,  others 
that  it  was  produced  by  a  force  outside,  others  that 
it  came  without  a  cause  of  any  sort.  The  Brahmins, 
versed  in  the  Three  Vedas,  point  out  the  way  to  a 
state  of  union  with  Brahma,  whom  they  neither 
know  nor  have  seen,  who  dwells  with  neither  wives 
nor  wealth,  who  is  free  from  malice,  lust  and  pride, 
from  sloth  and  weakness.  But  these  same  Brahmins, 
thought  they  profess  a  hope  to  attain  unto  him, 
seek  after  wives  and  wealth;  they  are  filled  with 
malice,  lust  and  pride.  The  Teacher  said  that, 
'If  anyone  is  to  attain  unto  a  state  of  union  with 
Brahma,  it  will  not  be  he  who  claims  to  know  all 
about  Brahma,  but  he  who  is  like  Brahma.'  And 
again:  'Suppose  a  man  wounded  with  a  poisoned 
arrow  were  to  say :  "  I  will  not  have  this  arrow  drawn 
until  I  know  the  caste  of  the  man  who  shot  it,  his 
stature,  color  and  town;  and  by  what  kind  of  a  bow 
the  arrow  was  impelled,  with  what  sort  of  bow 
string,  feathered  from  what  bird,  bound  with  thongs 
of  what  hide  and  headed  with  what  manner  of 
point."  That,  would  be  just  like  saying,  "I  will  not 
lead  the  religious  life  under  the  Blessed  One  unless 
he  elucidate  to  me  all  the  problems  of  metaphysics." 
Whether  the  truth  about  them  be  this  or  that, 
there  still  remain  birth,  old  age,  death,  sorrow, 
lamentation  and  despair.'  It  is  the  way  of  escape 
from  these  which  the  Buddho  has  made  clear  to  us. 
He  deemed  it  prudent  that  instead  of  passing  our 
time  in  framing  opinions  on  the  nature  of  things  and 
divinities  which  we  cannot  know,  we  should  devote 
ourselves  to  cultivating  those  qualities  of  which  we 
assuredly  know  that  they  tend  to  a  happy  result." 

"Well  spoken!"  exclaimed  Diomedes,  "and  in  a 
sense  true  enough.  We  worship  the  gods,  not  as  far- 
off  concepts  of  philosophy,  but  as  the  helpful  friends 
of  our  daily  avocations,  our  sowing  and  our  planting, 
our  building  and  adorning,  our  festivals  and  our 
wars.  But  tell  me,  do  you  look  for  a  state  of  union 
with  Brahma?" 

"By  no  means,"  answered  Revato,  "since  Buddha 
declared  that  all  brahmas,  as  well  as  devas,  are 
transitory  creatures  like  ourselves.  Neither  believe 
we  in  a  Paramatta,  a  constant  Soul  of  the  Universe. 
For  we  have  learned  that  ourselves  contain  no  atta 
abiding  thus  distinct  from  the  body,  but  that  all 
elements  in  our  personality  bear  vital  co-relations 
and  are  dissolved  together,  though  they  be  repro 
duced  in  new  births  by  kamma.  With  the  fresh 
body  is  born  a  fresh  soul.  Just  so,  we  might  imagine 
an  intelligence  in  the  universe,  which  differs  from 
Paramatta  as  our  mind  differs  from  an  atta,  and 
which  dissolves  and  reproduces  itself,  with  all  visible 
things,  from  kappa  to  kappa — from  aeon  to  aeon. 
But  even  this  would  not  lead  us  back  to  the  Root 
Cause." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  the  three  Vedas  recited?" 
inquired  Diomedes. 


[40] 


THE          LAYMAN         REVATO 


"Much  of  them,"  Revato  answered.  "If,  in  their 
oceans  of  falsehood,  there  is  anything  worth  ponder 
ing  it  is  not  the  gods  but  Tad  Ekam — That  One." 

"To  Evs,  for  Whom  some  among  our  philosophers 
have  sought,"  interjected  Diomedes. 

"He  at  Whom  the  Vedas  hint  in  the  awe  of 
mystery!"  Revato  continued.  "I  confess  that  He 
has  excited  my  wonder.  Perhaps  I  am  transgressing 
the  commandment  of  Buddho — the  monks  that  I 
know  would  certainly  think  so — but  as  I  feel  the 
Teacher's  spirit  I  don't  think  he  intended  the  pre 
cepts  to  be  taken  in  a  slavish  sense — we  must  be 
slaves  to  our  own  conscience  but  not  to  any  external 
authority,  even  to  his.  Thus,  I  make  bold  to 
cherish,  rather  than  to  stifle,  my  dark  suspicions  that 
there  is  a  Source  whence  all  power  proceeds." 

"You  hold,  do  you,"  asked  Diomedes,  "that 
concerning  the  object  of  man's  highest  concern 
he  can  have  no  specific  knowledge?" 

"I  have  always  been  alert  for  such  knowledge," 
answered  Revato  with  a  sigh,  "but  it  has  never 
come  my  way." 

"Such  knowledge,"  Diomedes  answered,  "lies 
ever  ready  for  your  taking  if  you  do  not  expect  to  see 
the  bodily  forms  of  the  gods,  but  are  content  to 
behold  their  works,  to  worship  and  honor  them. 
Attend  to  the  words  of  a  pandit  who  lived  in  my 
country: 

"  'He  that  orders  and  holds  together  the  whole  universe,  in 
which  are  all  things  beautiful  and  good,  and  Who  preserves  it 
always  unimpaired,  undecaying,  obeying  His  will  swifter  than 
thought  and  without  irregularity,  is  Himself  manifested  only  in 
the  performance  of  His  mighty  works,  but  is  invisible  to  us  while 
He  regulates  them.  Consider  also  the  sun,  which  appears  manifest 
to  all,  does  not  allow  man  to  contemplate  him  too  curiously,  but 
if  anyone  tries  to  gaze  on  him  steadfastly,  deprives  him  of  sight. 
The  instruments  of  the  deities  you  will  find  imperceptible.  The 
thunderbolt,  though  sent  from  above  and  working  its  will  with 
everything  in  its  path,  is  yet  never  seen  approaching  or  striking  or 
retreating.  The  winds  too  are  invisible  though  their  effects  are 
evident.  The  soul  of  man,  moreover,  which  partakes  of  the  divine 
nature,  if  anything  in  man  does,  is  clearly  perceptible,  but  unseen. 
Meditating  on  these  facts,  it  behooves  you  not  to  despise  the  invis 
ible  gods  but,  estimating  their  power  from  what  is  done  by  them, 
to  reverence  what  is  divine.'  " 

"There  is  reason  in  what  you  say!"  exclaimed 
Revato  with  animation.  "I  follow  your  line  of 
thought.  The  Cause  is  known  by  its  fruits.  What 
are  the  fruits?  Are  not  all  things  that  we  behold 
and  perceive?  Is  not  the  Blessed  Dhamma,  the 
Norm  of  Truth  and  holy  living?  Is  not  the  Buddho 
himself?  Again,  an  object  is  wasted  without  a 
subject,  a  fine  spectacle  without  an  appreciative 
witness,  sound  without  a  hearer  and  light  without  a 
seer.  Does  the  great  spectacle  of  the  universe  fall 
only  on  blank,  sightless  space?  Thus,  while  in  some 
ways  we  know  little  about  Issaro,  the  great  Owner, 
about  Sanang  Kumaro,  the  Ever  Young,  yet  in 
other  ways  we  know  much  of  Him,  since  we  know 
what  issued  from  His  mind  and  what  comes  back  to 
rest  there.  Surely  this  is  vast  knowledge  if  thought 
be  the  chief  part  of  existence.  With  such  knowl 
edge,  whether  great  or  small,  we  must  content  our- 


selves  until  further  light  shall  appear,  for  the  Tad 
Ekam  has  so  ordained  it." 

"You  grasp  my  philosophy  well,"  replied  Di 
omedes,  "and  your  own  is  not  ignoble;  but  both 
yours  and  mine,  as  I  said  before,  are  matters  quite 
other  than  religion.  This  I  should  find  it  harder  to 
teach  you.  For  religion  to  become  truly  a  part  of 
one's  life,  he  must  have  been  born  in  Hellas.  But 
to  give  you  further  proof  that  our  religion  does  not 
cripple  us  in  philosophy,  let  me  entreat  you  to 
come  to  my  house  some  day  when  work  is  done, 
and  to  read  with  me  from  the  books  of  our  sages." 

"With  utmost  gladness,"  answered  Revato, 
"though  I  do  not  quite  understand  what  it  is  that 
you  mean  by  the  reading." 

"I  mean  that  the  compositions  of  our  munis  are 
preserved  by  writing  them  down  on  prepared  skins 
of  animals,  or  fibres  of  river  flags,  from  which  we 
read  them." 

"Like  an  edict  or  a  memorial  inscription  on 
stone  or  a  business  document  or  a  letter?" 

"Even  so." 

"And  do  you  not  know  them  all  by  heart;  do  not 
your  learned  men?" 

"Only  such  passages  as  are  most  often  read  and 
may  happen  to  become  fixed  in  memory." 

"I  should  think  that  the  text  would  soon  grow  to 
be  very  corrupt,"  said  Revato.  "It  is  only  by 
depending  upon  the  agreement  of  learned  memories 
that  mistakes  can  be  kept  out.  If  a  book  is  written 
down,  errors  will  creep  in,  either  inadvertently  or 
intentionally,  and  thus  will  be  perpetuated  because 
no  one  is  wise  enough  to  correct  them." 

"Errors  or  no  errors,  I  will  hazard  your  judgment 
upon  my  books  as  they  stand,"  said  Diomedes. 

THE  RELIGION  OF  BEAUTY 

"Tell  me,"  continued  the  architect  after  a  mo 
ment's  pause,  "whether  having  saturated  your  sight 
with  the  work  of  our  Ionian  artists  does  not  make 
you  feel  gladder  and  better  than  you  were  before?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  it  does.     Why  should  it?" 

"Because  beauty  tends  to  elevate  the  soul.  Every 
noble  cult  expresses  itself  in  stately  rites,  majestic 
temples,  choice  words  and  sweet  music.  Religion 
inspires  art  and  art  inspires  religion." 

"Quite  otherwise,  so  far  as  I  have  observed," 
answered  Revato.  "What  you  say  may  be  true  of 
religion  as  it  was  long  ago  when  men  were  happy 
through  ignorance  and  first  sang  the  hymns  of  the 
Three  Vedas,  pleasing  to  the  ear  but  unsatisfying  to 
the  thinking  mind  or  the  craving  heart.  Again, 
there  may  be  an  art  inspired  by  an  old,  degenerate, 
formal  religion,  like  that  of  the  deva  worshippers 
to-day,  fruitful  in  gorgeous  gods'  houses  and  cere 
monies,  but  powerless  to  mend  the  life.  Otherwise, 
with  a  vital  religion,  that  is  to  say  with  our  own,  or 
ours  as  it  was  in  the  beginning.  Then  the  souls  of 
men  were  too  earnest  to  concern  themselves  with 
pleasing  externals.  They  spoke  in  direct  unadorned 
language,  anxious  not  to  charm,  but  to  instruct  and 


[4i 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


to  convert.  In  the  songs  they  sang  was  little  room 
for  imagery  and  on  their  viharas,  ornament  would 
have  been  considered  sacrilege.  Our  forms  are 
becoming  elaborate  now,  I  grant  you,  but  that  is 
because  our  early  zeal  is  dying  out  and  we  are  striv 
ing  by  unworthy  means  to  kindle  our  emotions.  I 
know  little  of  religions  in  your  country,  but  will 
warrant  that  the  same  natural  laws  control  as  in 
Jambudipa." 

"If  you  lived  in  our  country,"  said  Diomedes,  "we 
should  class  you  among  those  whom  we  call  the 
skeptics.  They  treat  with  contempt  our  national 
faith  and  since  they  have  arisen  public  morality  has 
seriously  declined." 

"I  cannot  dispute  your  assertion  without  knowing 
the  whole  story,"  said  Revato.  "Are  your  'skeptics' 
of  that  sort  who  deny  religion  altogether,  or  would 
they  destroy  an  old  form  in  order  to  make  way  for  a 
better?  May  not  the  moral  weakness  of  which  you 
speak  be  chargeable  to  the  old  religion  itself?  No 
one  could  be  bolder  than  our  Buddho  in  denying 
creeds,  yet  he  did  so  in  order  that  he  might  intro 
duce  a  purer  faith — one  by  which  public  virtue  has 
been  incalculably  benefited." 

Thus  did  Revato  grope  for  a  universal  law  which 
even  a  broad  knowledge  of  history  can  imperfectly 
formulate,  but  which  if  framed  might  pierce  the 
mystery  of  our  modern  future:  When  popular 
religious  opinions  are  discredited,  what  is  the  moral 
consequence  to  a  race? 

A  hiatus  in  the  colloquy  ensued,  then  the  elder  man 
spoke: 

"My  name,  as  you  may  be  aware,  is  Diomedes — 
and  yours?" 

"Revato,"  answered  he  that  bore  it,  "Revato,  a 
layman,  commonly  known  as  Yuvano,  collector  of 
Royal  revenues  at  Rajagaha." 

"Ah,  you  are  the  acquaintance  of  all  others  that 
I  am  gratified  at  having  made,"  said  Diomedes 
good  humoredly.  "Royal  customs  are  the  most 
important  factor  in  our  new  building,  and  of  late 
they  have  been  the  most  difficult  to  come  by.  You 
know,"  he  went  on  to  explain,  "that  there  is  a  strong 
cabal  in  the  palace,  directed  against  the  King,  and 
Prince  Dasaratho  is  believed  to  be  its  instigator. 
Since  he  became  heir  apparent,  he  cannot  content 
himself  to  wait  for  the  death  of  his  grandfather. 
The  disaffected  ones  are  raising  the  cry  of  extrava 
gance  and  trying  to  make  the  people  think  that 
Asoko's  mind  has  become  too  feeble  to  administer 
the  government.  He  is  well  aware  of  the  conspiracy 
but  is  meeting  it  only  by  conciliation  both  weak  and 
impolitic.  He  has  yielded  by  reducing  expendi 
tures,  and  has  begun  to  do  so  at  the  wrong  end,  in 
fact,  by  cutting  down  the  appropriations  for  com 
pletion  of  our  work.  He  intends  to  go  on  as  usual 
with  his  lavish  charities  for  eking  out  the  miser 
able,  useless  lives  of  slaves  and  vile  beasts  in  his 
hospitals,  and  to  let  the  finest  artistic  and  spiritual 
embodiment  in  all  Magadha  be  born  an  incomplete, 
deformed  monster." 


"I  rather  think,"  said  Revato,  "that  were  I  in 
the  King's  position  I  would  do  the  same." 

I  can  place  myself  at  your  point  of  view,"  replied 
Diomedes,  "but  did  you  occupy  mine,  you  would 
see  as  I  do.  I  could  exhaust  my  powers  of  mind  in 
pity  for  the  fallen  and  suffering,  but  I  know  that  it 
is  better  to  husband  my  energies  for  the  accomplish 
ment  of  great  purposes  to  elevate  those  who  stand. 
Our  efforts  for  the  good  of  the  world  must  be  applied 
where  they  will  be  most  effective,  and  that  is  only 
by  encouraging  those  who  are  capable  of  exerting 
efforts  in  turn.  The  great  benignant  power  of  this 
structure,  to  which  I  devote  the  most  magnificent 
thoughts  that  are  in  me,  you  may  not  clearly  per 
ceive,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  it  is  worth  the  lives  of 
many  human  beings — of  many  noble  and  competent 
lives,  not  to  mention  the  mean  and  impotent — and 
more  than  all  the  jackals,  elephants,  apes  and  other 
beasts  from  Ganga  to  Himava." 

"Your  work  on  this  chapel,"  remarked  Revato, 
"does  not  appear  to  be  suffering  from  lack  of  funds. 
Pray,  how  can  you  get  along  so  well  without  them?" 

"We  are  not  getting  along  without  them.  But  to 
enter  into  full  explanations  would  be  indiscreet, 
even  with  so  good  a  confident  as  yourself.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  that  more  than  one  blind  cat  and  singed 
monkey  and  barren  hen  in  the  royal  asylums  is  on 
short  rations  and  that  I  confess  to  certain  words 
and  acts  of  a  prudent  financial  wisdom  dissimilar 
from  that  which  philosophical  pedagogues  recom 
mend  to  beardless  youth." 

"If  such  be  the  case,"  answered  Revato,  "I 
advise  that  you  convert  this  place  into  an  Ajlvaka 
or  a  Nigantha  temple  rather  than  complete  it  as  a 
hall  for  the  Assembly  of  the  Saints." 

"Was  ever  any  great  work  accomplished,"  replied 
Diomedes  persuasively,  "without  disadvantage  to 
some  and  without  straining  a  point  here  and  there? 
If  we  were  unwilling  to  sacrifice  or  ignore  ethical 
theories  when  occasion  demanded,  we  could  accom 
plish  nothing.  In  every  path  of  progress  we  can  find 
plenty  of  such  obstacles  if  we  keep  our  eyes  on  the 
ground  rather  than  steadfastly  on  the  goal  ahead. 
What  are  we  to  conclude  then?  That  all  efforts 
must  be  given  up,  all  hope  abandoned?  No,  rather 
that  something  is  amiss  in  our  moral  notions.  And 
here,  if  you  will  have  it,  is  the  solution:  that  things 
right  and  wrong  cannot  be  judged  apart  from  their 
surroundings,  but  we  must  ask  whether  they  show 
symmetry  and  harmony  where  they  stand,  and  we 
must  consider  the  purpose  to  which  they  are  put. 
Excellence  and  evil  reside,  not  in  the  essence  of 
qualities,  but  in  their  proportion  and  balance;  good 
and  bad  are  those  mixtures  that  are  properly  or 
inordinately  blended.  In  this  world  where  justice 
must  have  bold  defenders,  of  what  use  would  be  a 
man  who  was  all  love  and  no  hate?  Virtue  is  that 
which  promotes  the  maximum  efficiency,  and  a 
virtuous  act  is  one  that  tends  to  a  worthily  effective 
result.  If  men  would  not  kill  how  could  they  ever 
go  to  war?" 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"Why  should  they  go?"  asked  Revato. 

"Ah,  I  perceive,  you  do  not  believe  in  war  either. 
But  suppose  a  country  were  invaded  by  a  hostile  army 
which  was  burning  its  cornfields  and  roofs  and  put 
ting  its  inhabitants  to  the  sword — would  you  not 
sympathize  with  the  people  in  their  resistance?" 

"In  such  event,"  said  Revato,  "I  should  sym 
pathize,  though  I  might  not  approve.  Likewise  I 
would  applaud,  in  emotion,  though  not  in  judgment, 
if  an  assassin  were  to  strike  down  an  oppressor.  In 
no  circumstances  could  I  rightfully  take  life  myself, 
yet  there  are  conditions  under  which  I  might  behold 
another  taking  life  without  an  effort  to  prevent.  If 
there  were  a  cruel  king  accustomed  to  torture  his 
subjects,  it  would  not  be  for  me  to  slay  him;  but  if 
a  rising  river  were  about  to  engulf  him,  or  if  a  tiger 
from  the  forest  were  about  to  seize  him,  I  should 
feel  no  obligation  to  warn  him  of  his  danger.  Simi 
larly,  if  desperate  men  were  about  to  destroy  one 
who  lived  to  inflict  pain  on  others,  I  should  look 
upon  the  slayers  with  gratification  as  on  the  element 
al  forces  of  Nature,  which  it  was  not  my  duty  to 
oppose. — Nay,  perhaps,  I  might  remonstrate  with 
them,  for  their  own  sakes,  but  I  would  not  lift  a 
finger  to  defeat  their  purpose." 

"Your  error,"  said  Diomedes  suavely,  "lies  in 
egotism."  "If  evil,  as  you  regard  it,  has  to  be  done  in 
the  world,  why  should  you  selfishly  demand  for 
yourself  an  immaculacy  denied  to  your  fellows?" 

"I  understand  your  words,"  answered  Revato, 
"and  they  may  be  true.  To  you  they  seem  clear; 
but  they  are  like  the  entrance  of  a  great  cavern 
whose  dark  windings  no  man  can  fully  explore." 

"Furthermore,  friend  Revato,"  said  Diomedes, 
"you  err  through  looking  at  pain  in  a  wrong  light. 
It  is  the  stuff  whereof  happiness  is  made.  In  travail 
are  brought  forth  all  noble  creatures  and  in  anguish 
are  wrought  all  sublime  works.  I  sometimes  wonder 
if  the  marble  from  which  we  carve  our  columns  and 
statues  does  not  emit  an  inaudible  groan  at  every 
blow  of  the  mallet.  But  as  I  watch  the  workman 
with  a  well-aimed  stroke  drive  his  chisel  into  the 
firm  stone,  cutting  a  clear,  fair,  faultless  line,  I 
think:  'Truly  a  virtuous  act.'  " 

"A  virtuous  act  must  be  a  kind  act,"  said  Revato. 

Diomedes  responded  by  leading  him  to  an  alcove 
where  one  of  his  sculptors  was  engaged  in  modeling 
an  image  of  a  deer  impaled  on  the  stake  of  a  pitfall. 
Before  him,  as  a  pattern,  in  the  same  agonizing 
situation,  like  a  bassia  flower  on  its  stalk,  quivered  a 
live  doe. 

Revato's  impulse  was  to  spring  forward  and  re 
move  it  from  the  stake,  but  Diomedes,  anticipat 
ing  the  effect  of  the  spectacle  upon  him,  held  him 
firmly  by  the  arm,  saying: 

"Tears  and  blood,  my  friend,  are  the  sap  of 
civilization's  tree.  What  are  the  present  pains 
of  this  creature  compared  with  the  exquisite  and 
enobling  feelings  which  her  image,  wrought  out 
with  all  its  ideal  meanings,  will  bring  to  the  multi 
tudes  who  behold  it  for  centuries  to  come?" 


"Are  you  a  god,"  cried  Revato,  "that  you  pre 
sume  to  know  the  future  and,  for  the  sake  of  a 
conjectural  good,  perpetrate  certain  cruelties?" 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  it  is  only  an  animal,"  said  Diomedes. 

Then  commandingly,  he  led  Revato  away  from 
the  dumb  martyr  and  back  to  the  Buddho  statue. 

The  dimming  light  and  a  sensation  of  impatience 
among  the  workmen  now  warned  of  the  day's  end. 
Before  quitting  for  the  night,  attempt  was  made 
to  shift  the  position  of  the  Buddho  image  in  order  to 
get  better  light  for  future  operations  upon  it. 

As  the  men  were  moving  the  heavy  marble  block 
on  its  rollers,  one  of  the  helpers,  a  brown  Pukkasa 
outcaste,  awkwardly  allowed  it  to  slip,  and  it  fell 
tilting  against  a  column.  In  so  doing,  it  caught  the 
right  arm  of  a  Yonaka  sculptor  and  held  him  pain 
fully  pinioned.  The  terrified  native  grasped  a 
wooden  rail  and  with  frantic  clumsiness  endeavored 
to  right  the  statue,  impeding  the  efforts  of  everyone 
else. 

"My  poor  Aristocrates!"  exclaimed  the  architect. 
"The  only  carver  at  this  end  of  the  world  who  is  able 
to  realize  my  great  conception!  That  arm  is  worth 
a  kingdom." 

Moving,  as  he  spoke,  calmly  but  quickly,  Diomed 
es  snatched  a  mallet  and  with  a  blow  full  in  the  face 
of  the  Pukkasa  laid  him  bleeding  on  the  floor. 
Then,  with  an  adroitly  placed  lever,  he  pried  up  the 
statue  and  released  the  arm  of  Aristocrates.  Most 
tenderly  the  architect  examined  and  bandaged  his 
skilled  assistant's  wound,  which  upon  inspection 
promised  only  temporary  disuse  of  the  deft  member. 
Meanwhile  the  other  helpers,  with  sullen  looks  and 
mutterings,  carried  their  comrade  out  of  the  Sala." 

Revato  had  witnessed  the  tragedy  silently  and 
with  feelings  which  resolved  themselves  into  a  sick 
heaviness.  It  was  all  over  in  a  monemt,  and  then 
there  was  nothing  that  he  could  do.  With  expressive 
wordlessness,  he  turned  his  back  on  Diomedes  and 
walked  with  downcast  eyes  toward  the  door  of  the 
chapel. 

"What  holy  meditation  engulfs  the  Layman 
Revato  so  deeply  that  he  will  not  notice  his  friends?" 

At  the  speaker  Revato  looked  up,  and  Prote  stood 
before  him.  Her  face  was  lit  by  the  fire  of  sunset 
but  it  seemed  to  be  her  spirit  glowing  through. 
Prote  of  the  dawn  had  become  Prote  of  the  dusk. 

"Has  he  not  found  cheerful  companions  this  day?" 
she  continued,  filling  up  his  void  of  answer. 

"I  have  met  two  monks  from  my  own  city  who 
were  better  than  cheerful;  they  were  wise." 

"Pray,  what  wisdom  did  you  learn  from  them?" 

"I  learned  that  womenkind  are  of  two  different 
sorts  and  that  of  one  sort  are  they  who  make  them 
selves  familiar  in  their  greetings  to  strangers." 

Prote  disdained  to  answer  this  remark  except  by 
a  contemptuous  snort;  her  experience  in  viewpoints 
enabled  her  to  let  it  pass  without  resentment. 

"You  are  welcome  to  the  Parayana  Sangharama," 
she  continued,  after  a  pause,  magnanimously. 


[43] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"Come,  my  father  will  exhibit  it  to  you  if  he  has  not 
done  so  already,"  and  she  led  Revato,  willy-nilly, 
back  to  the  statue  where  Diomedes  stood. 

"Well,  child,  you  are  late  to-night,"  was  his 
complaisant  greeting.  Then  to  Revato.  "My 
daughter  often  bears  me  company  to  the  island  in  the 
morning  or  comes  thus  in  the  evening  to  follow  me 
home  after  the  day's  work.  Her  name  is  Prote — 
The  First — and  truly  so,  for  everything  is  second  to 
her  inimitable  grace.  Second,  not  inferior,  I  hope, 
will  be  this  younger  daughter  of  mine,  this  marble 
Sala,"  he  added. 

"I  stopped  near  Gotamo's  Gate,"  said  Prote, 
"to  look  at  an  exhibition  given  by  a  man  who  is 
traveling  about  with  a  panorama;  but  I  did  not 
care  to  stay  for  the  whole  show.  It  was  horrid. 
What  do  you  suppose,  father,  was  the  subject? 
Why,  all  sorts  of  tortures  taking  place  in  the  Buddh 
ist  hells!  Such  discomforts  may  be  well  enough 
for  those  who  deserve  them,  but  I'm  sure  that  I 
don't,  so  why  should  I  distress  myself  thinking 
about  them?" 

On  the  ground  beside  her  a  pool  of  blood  left  by 
the  Pukkasa  spread  itself  trickling  over  the  floor 
and  saturated  the  heaps  of  white  dust.  Would 
Prote  notice  it?  wondered  Revato.  Anon  her  eye 
fell  upon  it,  and  presently,  with  a  long  splinter 
dipped  in  the  viscuous  fluid,  she  began  to  trace 
on  the  marble  pavement  letters  of  some  foreign 
character.  "She  cannot  realize  what  it  is,"  he  re 
flected,  "for  if  she  did  she  would  ask  questions 
about  it." 

"Let  us  ferry  you  back  to  the  town  in  our  boat," 
said  Diomedes  to  Revato.  "Our  Hellenic  workmen 
are  more  adept  oarsmen  than  your  people,  and 
though  they  are  tired  from  the  day's  work  they  will 
give  us  an  exhilarating  passage  to  land." 

"My  own  boatman  awaits  me,"  answered  Revato. 
That  was  all  the  reply  he  intended  to  make,  but  after 
holding  his  breath,  as  a  locus  penitentiae,  he  affixed 
a  belated  sequel:  "With  your  offer  before  me,  I  will 
dismiss  him." 

An  unheroic  spectacle  he  makes,  whoever  breaks 
his  resolves,  juggles  with  his  conscience  and,  hesitat 
ingly  weak,  yields  to  temptation.  Yet  distinguish 
we  must  between  him  who  thus  enters  upon  evil 
when  his  self-condemnation  is  reenforced  by  that 
of  mankind,  and  him  who  recedes  somewhat  from 
a  super-righteous  isolation  by  doing  acts  that  the 
world  approves.  The  way  of  the  ethical  pioneer 
is  lonely  and  well  may  cause  misgivings.  Where 
questions  of  conduct  are  nicely  poised,  why 
blame  if  sometimes  they  oscillate?  That  which 
discredits  the  will  may  do  praise  to  the  analytical 
faculty.  An  ever  determined  will  presupposes  a 
habit  of  snap  judgments. — So  much  in  excuse  for 
Revato. 

Across  the  sounding  porch  they  fared  together, 
and  through  the  courts  and  gates  to  the  landing 
place.  Here  waited  a  beautiful  little  boat,  built  on 
lines  unknov/n  to  the  rivers  of  Jambudlpa;  its  prow 


was  painted  with  a  name  in  Yonaka  characters  and 
sculptured  with  the  image  of  a  fish-tailed  woman 
who  evidently  belonged  to  some  Yonka  race  of 
water  Nagis  or  Asuris.  This  craft  Diomedes  boarded, 
and  Prote  and  Revato,  with  two  stout  lonians  to 
man  the  oars,  while  the  majority  of  workmen 
attended  in  a  heavier  vessel.  Heading  upstream, 
they  pulled  against  the  ragged  current.  To  this 
hardy  exercise  the  men  in  the  large  boat  struck 
up  a  boisterous  song  which,  in  their  hoarse 
voices,  hardly  seemed  to  be  of  the  same  language 
as  Prote's,  but  which  thrilled,  if  not  informed 
Revato: 

"Why  mix  the  great  bowl,  heavily  laboring, 
All  day  from  sunrise  wasting  in  drunkenness? 
Why  spare  to  launch  forth  where  the  sea  is  waiting  us 
What  time  the  cold  morn  wind  is  a-freshing? 

"Aboard!     Be  quick!     Grasp  hold  on  the  governail! 
Cast  loose  the  bow-line!     Trim  her  to  windward! 
Deep  water's  wine — more  strong  for  activity; 
Light  thought  is  wind-born,  making  for  merriment." 

The  opposing  water  let  the  boat  hold  little  momen 
tum  and  each  quick  oar-stroke  caused  a  distinct  in 
crement  of  progress,  which  was  celebrated  in  the 
stress  of  the  rhythm. 

Prote  sat  silently  by  Diomedes  on  the  stern  thwart 
and  Revato  forward  where  he  could  watch  her  face 
lighted  by  the  low,  red  sun  from  which  she  shielded 
her  eyes. 

At  Gotamo's  Ferry  landing  a  palanquin  with 
bearers  was  waiting  to  carry  the  girl  back  to  the 
city  and  her  father  walked  beside  her. 

"My  house,"  said  Diomedes  to  Revato,  "stands 
on  the  fourth  street  east  of  the  city  gate  next  the 
palace  entrance  and  on  the  left  as  you  go  toward  the 
market;  you  may  recognize  it  by  the  bust  of  Pallas 
Athene  or  by  the  bronze  lion's  head  knocker  on  the 
door,  if  that  is  a  more  familiar  image.  The  third  day 
of  the  next  pakkha — fortnight — is  a  holiday  when 
my  lonians  will  do  no  work,  neither  shall  I  after  noon. 
Come  then,  if  it  suits  you,  and  I  will  show  you  the 
books  of  which  I  spoke,  beside  other  interesting 
things  which  will  repay  your  examination." 

"I  will  come,"  promised  Revato.  Then  they 
separated. 

The  sinuous  way,  among  the  closely-built  houses, 
by  which  Revato  strolled  back  to  his  lodging  seemed 
all  too  short  for  the  joy  of  walking,  and  he  took  a  few 
additional  turns  before  he  entered.  All  the  day  had 
become  a  blank  in  his  memory,  up  to  the  time  of 
Prote's  appearance  in  the  Sala,  and  the  only  scene 
since  then  that  persistently  recurred  to  him  was  her 
mute  presence  in  the  boat  as  it  rhythmically  ad 
vanced  toward  the  setting  sun. 

When  at  last,  reluctantly,  he  entered  the  house 
for  his  night's  meal  and  shelter,  his  poor  companion 
Dukkho  was  nowhere  to  be  discerned.  He  failed  to 
notice  the  loss. 


44] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


CHAPTER  VII 
EARTH 


I  will  sing  of  the  Earth,  All-Mother,  eldest  among  the  Immortals, 
Who  all  that  fare  on  the  ground,  in  the  sea  or  the  volatile  airways 
Nourisheth  well  for  their  need  and  filleth  with  food  from  her 

storehouse. 

Joyful  by  thee  are  men  in  their  offspring  and  happy  in  harvests — 
Guardian  of  life  till  thou  takest  away  the  boon  thou  hast  given. 
Happy  the  sons  whom  thy  favor  hath  guerdoned  with  manifold 

riches, 
Many  which  grow  in  their  fields,  many  which  graze  on  their 

meadows. 

Govern  they  well  in  the  town,  habitation  of  exquisite  women, 
Laden  with  honors  and  wealth  but  light  in  the  sports  of  their 

children. 

Gaily  their  girls  bedecked  on  the  floreal  swards  go  dancing. 
Such  are  the  sons  of  thy  favor  whom  ageless    Immortals  call 

Mother. 
Whatso  the  song  I  be  singing,  still  may  I  keep  thee  in  memory. 

WATER 

It  was  Prote,  the  YonakI,  who  as  well  as  she  might 
in  the  soft  oozing  Pali,  which  cleaves  to  the  tongue, 
interpreted  to  Revato  this  vivacious  hymn  of  her 
race. 

He  had  met  her  at  Gotamo's  Ferry  that  morning 
as  she  was  rowed  from  the  Parayana  island  by  the 
Yonaka  servant  in  the  marvelous  little  boat  whose 
emblem  was  the  Water  Nagi. 

"Kuhing  yasi  king  etang?  Where  are  you  going?" 
she  had  asked  him. 

"I  am  looking  for  my  dog,  who  has  run  away  from 
me,"  Revato  had  answered. 

"This  is  not  the  place  to  find  him,"  she  retorted 
pertly.  "I  doubt  that  you  are  very  anxious  about 
it,  anyway." 

"I  assure  you  that  I  am,"  he  insisted  with  stupid 
hypocrisy. 

"I  have  a  fondness  for  dogs,  too,"  said  Prote 
relenting.  "They  are  so  susceptible  of  culture;  they 
take  such  an  appreciative  interest  in  everything 
that  goes  on." 

"When  I  was  a  child,"  remarked  Revato,  encour 
aged,  "I  loved  them  most  for  the  sport  of  hunting 
fleas  in  their  hair.  It  is  so  exciting  to  discover  the 
slippery  little  brown  insects  and  pursue  them  from 
place  to  place  in  the  furry  jungle,  losing  track  of 
them  at  times  and  then,  by  a  judicious  movement 
in  advance,  cutting  off  their  retreat.  And  when 
you  have  them  captured,  what  a  delightful  little  snap 
they  give  as  they  burst  between  your  thumb  nails! 
Yes,  I  confess  that  I  enjoyed  this  wicked  practice 
when  I  was  a  child.  Children  are  by  nature  cruel, 
no  doubt  because  of  their  nearness  to  the  savage  or 
the  wild  beast  which  they  have  been  in  former 
births.  It  is  surprising  how  our  dispositions  change 
with  years.  Not  since  long  ago  could  I  have  brought 
myself  to  hunt  or  injure  any  living  creature.  But  I 
err  in  speaking  of  beasts  as  characteristically  cruel, 
since  they  kill  for  necessary  food  and  to  defend  them- 

[45 


selves,  whereas  man  often  kills  and  maims  from 
sheer  wantonness.  Few  men,  moreover,  are  so  altru 
istic  as  most  dogs." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Odysseus'  dog,"  asked 
Prote,  "  which  died  from  joy  for  him  when  he  returned 
home  to  Ithaca  after  twenty  years'  war  and  wander 
ing?  Had  that  creature  lived,  I  am  sure  that  it  would 
have  followed  its  restless  master  on  that  new  and  last 
voyage  which  he  made  out  into  the  unknown  West. 
For  you  know  that  to  Odysseus  there  was  no  repose 
in  the  fulfilment  of  his  life's  labors  but  only  a  yearn 
ing  after  a  still  worthier  attainment  that  lay  beyond." 

"Like  the  sons  of  Pandu  in  the  story  of  the  Great 
Bharato  which  the  Brahmins  tell,"  said  Revato. 
"Have  you  heard  how  they  forsook  the  country  whose 
throne  they  had  reclaimed,  finding  that  therein  was 
no  abiding  satisfaction?  How  they  set  forth  on  foot, 
to  cross  Himavanta  and  the  waterless  desert  in 
search  for  Indo's  heaven?  And  how,  one  by  one, 
they  fell  in  the  sand  till  only  the  leader  and  the  dog 
kept  on?  And  then  how  the  master  refused  to  enter 
Paradise  if  his  brute  follower  must  remain  behind? 
This,  I  hold  to  be  a  rarer  example  of  fidelity  than 
yours  of  the  dog  which  died  for  joy,  because  the 
parties  were  reversed." 

"On  my  way  to  Jambudlpa,"  replied  Prote,  "I 
passed  through  the  city  which  Alexander  named  for 
his  dog  Peritas." 

They  were  reaching  the  limit  of  dog  stories  by  this 
time  but  Revato  thought  to  mention  Suko's  white 
terrier  which  sat  upon  its  bench,  eating  from  a  plate, 
and  barked  at  Buddho.  The  Blessed  One  explained 
that  excessive  riches  in  a  former  life  had  brought 
this  animal  to  its  present  low  estate,  whereupon  the 
creature  went  moping. 

"What  a  foolish  tale!"  exclaimed  Prote.  "But 
tell  me,  Layman  Revato,  what  is  your  dog's  name?" 

"He  is  a  melancholy  being  who  followed  me  on  a 
terrible  occasion,  and  I  call  him  Dukkho,  Anguish." 

"  By  all  means  then,  do  not  try  to  find  him.  Come 
rather  with  me  and  enter  the  'Nereid,'  my  boat, 
while  Nereus,  the  oarsman,  propels  us  on  a  little 
pleasure  voyage  where  the  banks  are  green." 

"What  will  the  people  say  of  us!"  exclaimed 
Revato,  aghast. 

"If  neither  Helen  or  Penelope  would  have  said 
aught  unkind,  I  shall  not  trouble  myself  about 
barbarians,"  retorted  Prote. 

Accordingly,  they  arranged  themselves  in  the  skiff, 
Prote  on  the  stern  thwart  with  her  maid,  lasis, 
holding  to  shade  her  a  white  native  parasol,  while 
Nereus  rowed  amidships  and  Revato  sat  in  the  bow 
to  balance.  It  was  an  easy  drift  down-stream  on 
the  headstrong  Ganga  nadi.  Lest  they  should 
throw  too  great  a  burden  on  the  return  trip,  they 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


branched  off  into  the  affluent  Hirannabahu — the 
Golden  Armed — whose  ripples  sparkled  aureate-red 
with  the  soils  which  it  had  drained.  For  a  long  time 
they  were  passing  the  high,  far-stretching,  many- 
towered  city  wall,  the  vast  palace  group,  the  tall 
monolithic  pillars  and  the  massive  thupas,  by  which 
Revato  had  come  on  his  night  arrival  at  Pataliputta. 

"The  people  already  say  that  these  gigantic  piles 
must  have  been  heaped  up  by  yakkhas — genii," 
observed  Revato.  "Have  you  in  Yonaloka  anything 
to  compare  with  them?" 

"Anything  in  Ionian  land  to  compare  with  the 
work  of  barbarians!"  sneered  Prote;  but  she  added, 
"If  crude  and  grotesque,  they  are  at  least  praise 
worthy  for  bigness.  A  story  has  reached  the  Aegean 
shore,  that  your  Pataliputta  is  the  greatest  work  of 
Herakles."  ' 

"Who  was  Herakles  and  what  was  he  like?" 
Revato  asked  her. 

"What  was  Herakles  like?"  echoed  Prote.  "Oh, 
he  was  like  the  Architect  Diomedes." 

Finally,  after  skirting  the  town  palisade  for  almost 
a  yojana — seven  miles — they  crept  out  in  the  open 
country  where  the  banks  of  the  stream  grew  fair  to 
behold. 

Along  the  margin,  with  its  rising  hollow  bubbles, 
grew  hollow  reeds  suggestive  to  Revato  of  human 
life  and  to  Prote  of  Pan  flutes;  while  over  them  hung 
an  indescribable  medley  of  branch  and  creeper  in  the 
profusion  of  tropical  autumn.  Sometimes  the  shores 
opened  up  into  pleasant  groves  containing  all  manner 
of  trees:  the  luscious  amba,  jambu  and  banana; 
the  flowering  mandarava;  the  red-blossoming  palasa 
or  phandana;  the  stately  tala,  fan  palm;  the  fragrant 
candana  and  campaka;  the  useful  saka,  teak;  and  one 
bend  in  the  shore  disclosed  a  forest  of  the  segre- 
garious  strong  sala  with  its  green-blue  bark  and 
lustrous  white  leaves.  Occasionally  would  appear  a 
massive  Nigrodha,  banyan,  spreading  out  with  his 
arched  avenues  of  down-dropped  saplings,  while 
planted  close  beside  him  grew  his  consort,  the  As- 
sattha,  Buddho's  Wisdom  Tree,  with  her  delicate, 
quivering,  sparkling  foliage. 

Beneath  the  trees  strutted  sundry  mayuras,  pea 
cocks,  spreading  wide  their  plumage  to  display  those 
beauty  spots  which  to  Revato's  instructed  fancy 
were  candakas,  full  moon  shapes,  but  which  Prote 
explained  as  the  eyes  of  earth-born  Argos,  implanted 
there  by  Hera.  All  lovely  things,  the  layman  warned 
her,  were  of  the  earth,  earthy. 

"Attend  the  strident  peacocks  while  they  spring, 
With  gaudy  crest  and  beautiful  dark  wing; 

In  blatant  voice  they  cry. 

Like  them  this  great  bright  earth  with  grass  bedecked, 
Its  glancing  waters,  fleecy  clusters  flecked 

On  all-pervading  sky." 

Often  the  branches  held  straw  baskets  placed  by 
the  villagers  as  shelter  for  birds;  or  there  were  seen 
lying  ball  oblations  of  food,  tokens  of  a  simple  ritual 
devotion  to  the  rukkhadevata,  the  nymphean 
denizens  of  the  trees. 


Buddho,  by  his  commandments,  had  protected 
vegetation  from  wanton  destruction  because  it  was 
food  for  sentient  creatures,  but  his  simple  disciples 
found  in  the  still  life  of  the  woodland  other  grounds 
for  respect,  investing  it  with  mysteries,  hoary  by 
antiquity  as  the  doting  old  religion  which  the  En 
lightened  One  had  confuted  with  scorn. 

His  countrymen's  childish  superstitions  put  Re 
vato  on  the  apologetic  to  Prote — apology,  it  must 
be  admitted,  rather  to  save  himself  by  inviting  her 
derision  of  them.  She,  however,  saw  no  reason  for 
contempt,  but  was  interested  in  their  simple  druid- 
ism  and  encouraged  him  to  tell  her  stories  about 
the  native  dryads,  the  rukkhadevata. 

A  sacred  mukkhaka  tree,  as  he  related,  had,  in  a 
past  eternity,  been  selected  by  carpenters  for  lum 
ber,  but  Bodhisatto,  shaped  as  a  chameleon,  gnawed 
holes  in  it  which  made  it  appear  rotten,  thus  saving 
the  indwelling  fairy  and  her  children. 

Bodhisatto  himself  was  once  a  sprite  in  a  sala 
forest  of  Himavanta  and  he  advised  his  kinsfolk  to 
inhabit  trees  that  stood  close  together;  some,  how 
ever,  neglecting  his  counsel,  chose  great  solitary 
trees  in  the  populated  open  and  were  destroyed  by 
their  unsupported  fall  in  a  storm. 

The  denizen  of  a  pucimanda  or  nimba  tree  under 
which  a  robber  had  taken  refuge  warned  him  away 
lest  if  he  were  captured  there,  a  stake  on  which  to 
impale  him  should  be  cut  from  the  tree,  to  its 
destruction. 

In  a  nigrodha  lived  a  dryad  to  whom  the  squire 
of  a  little  village  offered  a  sacrifice  of  slain  crea 
tures,  that  he  might  obtain  release  from  a  vow;  but 
this,  the  angel  told  him,  was  not  the  way  to  ensure 
the  true  Release. 

Villagers,  at  a  festival,  were  offering  to  their  tree 
nymphs  garlands,  odors,  perfumes  and  cakes,  but 
one  poor  man,  bringing  to  a  castor-oil  tree  only  a  tiny 
husk  loaf  and  some  water,  feared  that  the  deity 
would  disdain  it  and  concluded  to  eat  it  himself. 
"Why  rob  me  of  my  portion?"  she  asked  him,  and 
favored  him  by  showing  where,  buried  around  the 
trunk,  were  pots  of  gold  neck  to  neck. 

All  these  little  histories  dated  from  the  ages  of 
the  past,  but  even  in  modern  times,  it  was  said,  the 
tree  spirits  sometimes  manifested  their  presence  to 
mankind.  When  the  eloquent  nun  Sukka,  a  dis 
ciple  of  the  Buddho,  was  dwelling  in  her  hermitage 
near  Rajagaha,  a  rukkhadevata  domiciled  near  her 
accustomed  walk,  upon  overhearing  her  words, 
quitted  the  tree  and  entering  the  town,  summoned 
all  men  to  come  and  learn  from  Sukka. 

Sylvan  fantasies  such  as  these  had  indeed  for 
Revato  a  certain  seriousness,  because  they  suggested 
the  extent  and  community  of  life  in  which  lay  a 
great  mystery.  Still  he  placed  so  little  credence  in 
them  that  he  was  astonished  to  find  Prote  attending 
to  them  as  one  who  believed  them.  They  brought 
to  her  mind,  moreover,  arboreal  legends  from  her 
own  land,  which  were  dear  to  her  and  very  real.  The 
quiet  life  of  the  trees,  she  said,  was  the  animation  of 


[46] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


immortal  gods  who  might  be  drawn  into  communion 
through  their  particular  forest  symbols.  Thus,  the 
stout  oak  was  upheld  by  the  Sky  Father,  the  laurel 
had  been  planted  by  him  who  crowns  the  Muses, 
among  the  cultured  olive  trees  dwelt  the  Wise  and 
Skillful  Goddess,  while  in  the  demure  myrtle  lurked 
the  coy  Lady  of  Love.  In  Prote's  country  the  river 
banks  were  lined  with  tall,  melancholy  poplars, 
because  they  grew  so  along  the  stream  of  the  Under 
World,  where  the  daughter  of  Demeter  had  been 
led  as  a  captive  bride. 

Yes,  and  many  of  these  trees,  generically  or  indi 
vidually,  held  their  tragic  histories  of  life  human  or 
semi-divine,  for  they  were  men  or  women  trans 
formed  into  such  shapes  in  perpetual  retribution  or 
memorial.  So  Prote  went  on  to  tell  Revato  of 
Daphne  who,  to  hide  from  Apollo,  was  changed 
into  a  laurel,  her  arms  its  limbs,  her  hair  its  leaves; 
of  Cyparissus  who,  bewailing  a  sacred  stag  which  his 
dart  had  pierced,  became  a  cypress  tree  that  he 
might  mourn  forever;  of  Phillis  who,  self-hanged 
through  the  fickleness  of  Demophon,  revived  as  an 
almond  tree;  of  the  shepherd  Attis  who  was  saved 
from  vengeance  for  his  aspiration  to  a  princess  by 
metamorphosis  into  a  pine;  of  another  shepherd 
who,  mocking  and  terrifying  the  nymphs  in  their 
haunts,  was  transfixed  as  the  bitter  wild  olive;  how 
Clymene's  daughters,  lamenting  their  brother  Phae 
ton,  who  had  been  hurled  into  Eridamus,  remained 
standing  on  its  banks  as  poplars;  how  Rhoecus, 
saving  an  oak  tree,  won  in  love  its  hamadryad  but 
lost  her  by  his  inconstancy  and  his  thoughtless 
injury  of  her  messenger,  the  bee;  how  Pyramus,  in 
mistaken  grief  over  Thisbe's  lion-rent  veil,  purpled 
with  his  ground-going  life-blood  the  fruit  of  the 
mulberry,  and  how  Thisbe,  as  she  slew  herself  for 
him,  turned  it  by  her  prayers  to  a  funereal  black. 

At  one  point  on  the  bank  of  the  stream  a  column 
of  smoke  was  ascending  and,  on  coming  nearer,  the 
boat  party  passed  a  group  of  Brahmins  putting  to 
death  a  goat  in  sacrifice  to  their  cruel  devas.  Per 
haps  it  was  a  feast  for  departed  kinsmen,  or  per 
chance  to  appease  the  consciences  of  the  wealthy 
living. 

"To  save  a  life,"  remarked  Revato,  "would  do 
more  good  than  to  destroy  a  thousand." 

"You  are  ignorant,"  answered  Prote,  "of  the 
wisdom  of  the  gods,  whose  will  it  is  that  we  appeal  to 
them  by  such  means.  Are  you  and  I  to  set  our  com 
monplace  shrewdness  above  the  mysteries  of  the 
Immortals?  And  if  a  friend  from  whom  we  had 
received  immeasurable  kindness  all  our  lives  were 
to  come  to  our  house  as  a  guest,  should  we  not  esteem 
it  inhospitable,  to  say  the  least,  if  we  refused  him  a 
banquet?  Ah,  if  you  could  only  know  the  sacred 
grandeur  amid  which  we  make  our  offerings  to  Zeus 
and  to  Apollo,  you  would  be  lifted  where  the  value 
of  a  goat's  life  is  nothing  to  be  considered." 

In  another  sheltered  spot,  some  men  of  the  lowest 
class  were  watching  a  ram  fight  and  prodding  on  the 
two  staggering,  blood-blinded  brutes. 


"Another  unlawful  cruelty,"  Revato  observed. 
"In  the  old  days  there  used  to  be  fights  of  elephants 
and  all  sorts  of  animals.  There  were  races  between 
them  too,  which,  if  less  cruel,  were  more  foolish — 
between  mixed  teams  of  horses  and  oxen,  for  ex 
ample." 

Prote  did  not  answer  his  remark;  she  was  too 
much  interested  in  looking  at  the  duel  of  the  rams. 
Much  to  his  disgust,  she  commanded  Nereus  to 
slacken  on  the  oars  until  it  should  be  assured 
whether  the  white  one  or  the  black  one  would  come 


out  victor. 


LAND 


After  they  had  witnessed  the  sickening  finish  and 
pulled  on  some  distance  further,  Prote  thought  they 
had  gone  far  enough,  so  the  party  landed  near  a 
highway  bridge  where  stood  a  solitary  rest  house  in 
the  cool  of  some  simbali,  silk-cotton  trees,  whose 
shadows  on  the  grass  looked  black  against  the  sun 
light  that  sifted  down  through  their  leaves. 

There  was  a  sugar  factory  nearby  and  beside  it 
men  were  mixing  flour  and  cane  dust  with  the 
molasses.  Prote  commanded  Revato  to  fetch  her 
some  of  this  pasty  compound,  but  it  failed  to  please 
her  taste  and  she  bestowed  it  upon  lasis. 

Revato's  eye  now  fell  upon  a  basket  fish  trap 
fastened  in  the  river,  and  after  investigation  he  set 
free  its  captive  inmates.  "How  I  envy  them  their 
freedom!"  he  remarked. 

"Is  stealing  other  men's  fishes  your  idea  of 
honesty?"  inquired  Prote. 

"To  liberate  them  is  right  if  done  from  a  motive 
of  compassion,"  he  replied.  "Buddho  himself 
released  an  ensnared  deer.  Fortunately  this  fish 
trap  is  a  painless  one;  but  have  you  ever  thought  of 
the  pitfalls  of  sharp  stakes,  and  the  like,  on  which, 
in  every  forest,  numberless  innocent  animals  are 
caused  to  suffer  for  days,  condemned  to  a  death  such 
as  we  shudder  to  inflict  on  robbers  and  men  slay 
ers?  When  I  was  a  very  young  lad  I  made  a  gin 
which  I  set  for  a  rat,  and  promptly  forgot  it.  Two 
or  three  days  later  I  found  it  with  the  poor  creature 
caught  by  its  leg,  which,  under  the  excruciating 
pressure,  had  withered  and  dried  while  I  was  taking 
my  careless  ease.  Remorse  has  followed  me  ever 
since." 

They  now  refreshed  themselves  at  a  wayfarer's 
well  and  plucked  fruit  from  a  public  amba  tree. 
One  particular  mango  coveted  by  Prote  defied  all 
efforts  at  its  capture. 

"Why  is  your  heart  set  upon  that  special  fruit?" 
Revato  asked  her. 

"Because  it  is  like  one  you  know,  sir,"  she  an 
swered. 

"Far  on  the  branch  swings  a  sweet  fruit 

Close  to  the  end. 

Gatherers  passed,  missing  to  find — 

Missing  it  not — 

Nay,  for  it  hung  quite  out  of  reach." 

It  was  past  mid-day,  the  hot  hour  when  Nature 
rested.  The  bee  slept  in  the  hollow  chamber  of  the 


[47] 


In  the  third  part  of  the  pageant  the  religious  and  aca 
demic  aspects  of  the  thirteenth  century  find  their  representa 
tion  in  scenes  where  Roger  Bacon  holds  the  center  of  the 
stage.  Had  men  been  asked  in  Bacon's  time  to  name  the 
greatest  figure  in  the  learned  world  they  would  not  have 
mentioned  the  English  friar.  They  would  have  pointed  to 
Albert  the  Great,  or  to  Thomas  Aquinas. 

It  is  Thomas,  therefore,  greatest  of  the  Schoolmen,  the 
recognized  philosopher  of  the  Roman  Church,  who  speaks 
the  prologue  to  the  scenes  he  yields  to  Bacon.  His  talent 
was  early  apparent  in  Italy,  his  home-land;  it  was  disci 
plined  under  Albert  the  Great  in  Cologne  and  Paris;  it  came 
to  its  full  manifestation  in  the  "Summa"  it  created  for  all 
the  world.  As  a  teacher,  Thomas  not  only  convinced  his 
hearers,  but  he  stirred  them  as  well.  As  a  writer,  he  pre 
sented  the  articles  of  his  faith,  in  question  and  answer, 
reasoned  with  all  the  skill  and  rigor  of  the  logic  of  deduc 
tion,  yet  he  disguised  none  of  the  difficulties  which  its  ene 
mies  might  suggest;  but  he  had  such  command  of  the  teach 
ings  of  the  ancients  and  of  his  contemporaries,  and  so  fused 
them  with  the  spark  of  his  own  genius  that  he  overcame  his 
critics,  and  left  behind  him  the  "final  construction  of  the 
mediaeval  Christian  scheme." 


48 


PART  III 

PROLOGUE 

THOMAS  AQUINAS 

Of  those  who  in  a  troubled  age  were  caught 
Between  two  currents  of  contending  truth, 
I  was  the  reconciler.     One  way  the  Church 
Drew  us,  the  faith  delivered  to  the  saints, 
And  one  way  drove  the  mind  of  Aristotle. 

Hither  by  hands  Arabian — Avicenna, 

Averroes, — came  his  philosophy, 

A  Grecian  gift,  pleasant  and  perilous.     Then 

Young  Abelard,  the  questioner,  who  would  gauge 

By  reason  the  furthest  mysteries  of  heaven, 

Not  in  a  glass  darkly,  but  face  to  face 

Daring  to  look  on  God.     That  humble  man, 

Peter  the  Lombard,  for  a  widow's  mite 

Then  gave  to  Holy  Church  the  Sentences, 

To  lay  the  reckless  seas  Abelard  raised. 

Albert  the  Great,  that  strong  intelligence, 

My  master,  then  arose,  who  greatly  toiled 

To  show  truth  single  in  the  universe, 

And  the  Philosopher,  where  true  at  all, 

One  with  the  Fathers  and  with  Holy  Writ. 

His  task  I  finished,  Thomas  of  Aquino, 

And  wed  indissolubly  our  ancient  faith 

Forever  with  her  ancient  enemy. 

I  showed  the  power  of  reason — not,  like  Abelard, 

Making  presumptuous  mockery  of  heaven, 

But  in  its  realm ;  and  where  the  borders  lie 

I  showed,  between  what  man  himself  can  know, 

And  what  is  knowable,  but  not  by  man, 

And  what  no  man  discovers,  but  receives 

From  Power,  Wisdom,  Love,  which  three  God  is. 

Nature  and  God  make  nothing  vain;  all  light 

Is  to  be  walked  in.     Yet  illusion  oft 

This  sin-enchanted  world  deceives ;  not  all 

That  shining  seems,  is  light.     And  oft  our  wills 

Are  partisan,  less  loyal  to  the  truth 

Than  to  its  radiant  ministers.     Foothills 

Of  reason  we  can  climb,  therefrom  discern 

Mountains  unclimbed,  and  further  heights  therefrom 

Argue,  though  not  discerned.     Reason  alone 

Walks  lowly ;  winged  with  faith,  it  guides  toward  heaven. 

See  now  a  man  whose  reason  guides  toward  earth, 
And  truth  he  yearns  to  worship  in  this  world. 

(Exit) 

49 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


folly  to  set  store  by  them.    Did  you  never  hear  the 
song  of  the  beautiful  nun  Khema?     Listen  then: 

"  'Thou  art  youthful  and  fair;  I  likewise  am  young  and  for 

pleasures. 
Khema,  come  joy  to  the  five-fold  musical  measures.' 

"  'There  is  nothing,'  she  said,   'for  this  pestilent  carcass  but 

spurning. 
When  I  think  how  it  rots,  my  heart  is  assuaged  from  its  yearning.' 

"  'Like  a  burrowing  dart,  like  a  poignard,  reeking  and  frightful, 
Such  is  life-love  to  me,  and  I  loathe  what  for  thee  is  delightful. 

"  'Now  ruined  is  pleasure,  the  stronghold  of  Dark  is  destroyed. 

0  Sinful,  O  Death,  be  it  known  thy  dominion  is  void.'  " 

"You  reach  your  conclusions  by  an  ill  road," 
retorted  Prote,  "and  it  is  a  way  which  I  decline  to 
travel.  Let  us  forswear  melancholy  themes.  There 
was  once  a  man  in  my  country  who  had  some  of  your 
gloomy  notions,  and  even  though  they  were  tainted 
with  no  such  loathsomeness,  but  were  quite  pleasant 
ly  expressed,  the  people  found  that  he  was  a  menace 
to  society,  he  was  corrupting  the  youth  of  the  city; 
so  they  put  him  out  of  the  way." 

"What  harm  did  they  see  in  him?" 

"He  was  personally  ugly,  which  was  the  lesser 
grievance.  His  views  were  not  wholly  to  be  con 
demned,  for  they  showed  genius,  and  they  per 
formed  the  good  office  of  all  dark  things,  in  furnish 
ing  a  background  for  the  bright.  Nevertheless  they 
were  untrue." 

"In  what  way?" 

"They  marred  the  symmetry  of  our  exquisite  life 
and  religion." 

"You  must,"  said  Revato," pardon  my  amazement 
at  your  philosophy,  that  character  is  moulded  by 
appearance." 

"The  question  is  not  of  externals,"  replied  Prote; 
"it  is  the  entire  substance  of  which  the  outside  is  a 
part.  Look  at  me!" 

She  turned  toward  him  her  fair  glowing  face,  set 
off  by  a  garland  of  wild  flowers  which  she  had  just 
been  weaving. 

"What  i_s_that  you  have  on?"  asked  he.  "Ah, 
a  vajjhamala,  a  wreath,  such  as  they  place  on  a 
felon's  head  before  he  dies." 

"Let  that  be  so,"  she  retorted,  "but  dare  you  say 

1  am  not  lovely?" 

"Lovely  as  the  daughters  of  Maro,  god  of  death; 
as  the  nymphs  of  the  Tusita  heaven." 

"And  dare  you  tell  me  that  this  beauty  is  physical 
only,  and  does  not  pervade  my  whole  nature?" 

"Your«whole  nature  it  is,  Prote,  which  must  one 
day  be  dissolved,  and  who  knows  in  what  shape  you 
will  be  reborn?" 

"I  know,"  she  retorted,  "that  if  I  am  reborn  I 
shall  be  reborn  beautiful." 

"Do  you  remember,  Prote,  that  in  the  picture 
gallery  of  the  Jataka  stories,  on  the  wall  of  the  sala, 
there  is  one  which  shows  a  monk  plucking  a  lotus 
flower?" 

"I  remember  it,"  said  Prote,  "but  I  have  never 
found  out  the  moral  of  the  fable." 


"That  bhikkhu,"  Revato  explained,  "was  sunken 
in  self-love,  as  you  are,  and  for  his  sake  Bhagava 
made  the  lotus  flower  to  appear.  While  he  gazed 
upon  it  the  petals  fell  off,  it  faded  and  withered  away 
as  every  body  must  fade  and  wither.  Then  the 
Master  said: 

"  'Pluck  out  self-love  as  with  your  hand  you  pluck 

The  autumn  water  lily;  set  your  heart 

On  nothing  but  the  perfect  Path  of  Peace 

And  that  Nibbana  which  the  Buddho  taught.'  " 

With  Revato's  insistent  reversion  to  the  hereafter 
of  existence,  Prote's  expression  reacted  to  the  intru 
sion  of  sinister  thoughts. 

"Ah,  wretched  Thyrsis,  what  avail  thy  sighs?" 
she  cried,  and  murmured  to  her  lute  a  little  threnody: 

"How  swiftly  mortal  pleasure 
Attains  its  ripe  fruition, 
And  swiftly  too  is  driven 
On  fate's  unpitying  gales! 

"One  fleeting  day  we  linger, 
Perchance  to  ask,  what  are  we? 
And  wonder  what  we  are  not, 
For  man  is  but  a  shade. 

"Yet  while  god-given  splendor 
O'erspreads  mine  earthly  pathway, 
The  light  of  life  attends  me 
And  sweet  my  tarrying  here. " 

"Do  you  flatter  yourself  that  you  can  alter  facts 
by  refusing  to  look  at  them?"  asked  Revato,  surlily. 

Her  reply  came  as  another  and  more  cheerful 
song: 

"What  is  thy  tenure,  Cicada, 

Insanguinate,  fleshless,  ephemeral? 

Glad  yet  thou  art,  by  the  dew-drops 

Drunken,  presager  of  Summer; 

Dear  to  the  tillers  and  Muses, 

Dearer  to  other  cicadas. 

Phoebus  hath  formed  thee  for  chirping, 

And  Earth,  who  hath  cast  thee  so  lately, 

Giveth  all  things  for  thy  pleasure 

That  are  borne  by  the  fields  and  the  seasons. 

Age  cannot  burden  thy  spirit, 

But,  loving  and  richly  possessing 

The  world  that  is  thine  by  thy  nature, 

In  wisdom  thou  art  an  Immortal." 

MAJESTY 

A  splashing  among  the  reeds  at  the  water's  edge 
now  diverted  their  attention,  and  to  learn  its  cause 
Revato  turned  for  a  few  steps  into  the  underbrush. 

"Come  back,  come  back,  there  may  be  snakes!" 
cried  Prote,  and  she  turned  white  as  a  kanikara 
flower  in  token  of  the  dread  wherewith  her  race  had 
regarded  the  footless  inhabitants  of  Bharata  Khanda 
since  the  days  of  the  Macedonian  invaders. 

Out  upon  the  path  beside  the  highway,  hopped  a 
frog  whose  hind  leg  had  been  mangled  by  the  water 
turtle  which  caused  the  splashing. 

"Hideous  creature,"  gasped  Prote. 

"No  more  hideous  than  you  and  I  were  when  we 
were  as  low  on  the  staircase  as  he  is  now,"  replied 
Revato. 


[SO] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"He  is  hideous,"  continued  Prote,  "not  because 
he  is  a  frog,  but  because  he  is  no  longer  a  perfect 
frog.  I  won't  have  him  in  my  sight.  Adhamo  miga- 
jatanang,  meanest  of  animals!  Gacchahi,  gacchahi 
— Get  away  with  you!  Susu!  Huhung!"  she  hissed 
and  grunted,  displaying  her  proficiency  in  the  native 
language  of  "shooing"  away  animals. 

She  made  a  thrust  with  her  foot  to  push  the 
wounded  creature  back  into  the  bushes.  So  clearly 
as  a  frog  might,  it  gave  utterance  to  its  additional 
anguish. 

"Aho  papa — Oh  wicked  woman!"  cried  Revato, 
"have  you  none  of  your  sex's  pity!  I  could  tell  you 
of  a  mother  in  Giribbaja  who,  when  her  child  was 
bitten  by  a  poor  scorpion,  carried  the  brute  tenderly 
out  of  the  house — for  it  knew  no  better." 

Prote  laughed  prettily.  "I  fear  this  frog  is  not 
so  innocent,"  she  said.  "He  is  no  better  than 
those  churls  who,  changed  into  frogs,  dwell  for 
ever  in  a  Lycian  pool  because  they  insultingly 
denied  drink  to  Leto  when  with  her  children  she 
fled  from  Hera." 

"It  stands  to  reason,"  answered  Revato,  "that 
every  creature  of  mean  estate  has  done  something  to 
bring  him  there.  But  we  should  forget  their  past  and 
think  only  of  their  present  forlorn  condition.  When 
Bodhisatto  rescued  from  a  flooded  river  a  rat,  a 
snake,  a  parrot  and  a  prince,  and  warmed  them  by  a 
fire  in  his  hut,  it  was  the  rat  which  he  comforted 
first,  as  being  the  weakest." 

While  they  were  talking,  the  frog  had  continued 
to  evidence  its  sufferings. 

"  I  will  kill  it  to  put  it  out  of  its  pain, "  said  Revato 
impulsively,  and  he  sought  for  a  mercifully  heavy 
club. 

"Have  you  more  consideration  for  a  frog's  feelings 
than  for  a  woman's?"  asked  Prote  pettishly. 

Revato  hesitated,  not  on  her  account,  but  from 
realization  that  he  was  about  to  commit  a  great  sin 
under  the  commandments  of  his  religion.  A  short, 
but  fierce,  conflict  took  place  in  his  mind  between 
his  bold  intellect,  which  counseled  him  that  death 
would  be  kind,  and  the  traditionalism  of  his  con 
science  by  which  deprival  of  any  life  was  forbidden. 
The  latter  control  soon  became  ascendant,  since  here, 
as  usual,  he  had  courage  to  form  a  private  judgment 
but  not  to  act  upon  it.  So  he  stood  pitying  the  crea 
ture  but  doing  nothing.  Then  a  gust  of  strong  feel 
ing  rushed  through  him  and  he  thought:  "I  will  do 
the  humane  deed  of  the  moment,  law,  religion  and 
fate  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding."  So  he 
picked  up  the  stick  that  he  had  dropped,  but  before 
he  could  use  it,  his  mind  was  penetrated  by  a  new 
reflection:  "After  all,  the  holy  law  is  right  in  weigh 
ing  ultimate  against  proximate  considerations.  If  I 
kill  the  frog,  it  will  not  end  him,  but  merely  transfer 
him  to  some  other  state,  where  he  is  likely  to  be  no 
better  off  than  he  is  now,  perhaps  far  worse.  His 
sufferings  in  the  long  run  will  not  be  lessened  a  par 
ticle,  and  I  shall  have  done  a  bad  deed  to  no  purpose; 
the  law  is  right  because  it  is  founded  on  reason." 

[5 


What  finally  would  have  been  the  fate  of  the  frog 
from  Revato's  hand  was  left  undecided,  for  just 
then  a  great  procession  appeared  down  the  highway. 
As  it  approached  the  bridge,  it  resolved  to  view  as  a 
troop  of  horses,  followed  by  elephants  with  their 
riders  under  high  canopies  adorned  with  the  peacock 
symbol  of  the  dynasty.  Both  Revato  and  Prote 
recognized  it  as  a  royal  progress. 

Many  nobles  in  the  train  were  tricked  out  with  all 
imaginable  finery,  chariot  rugs,  fans  of  buffalo  tails, 
umbrellas,  embroidered  slippers,  gold-encrusted  canes, 
bracelets,  diadems  and  other  jewelry.  To  set  round 
their  magnificence  there  were  no  hump-backed 
dwarfs  nor  captives  of  war;  there  came,  however,  a 
band  of  savage  hill-tribe  men,  not  with  the  air  of 
slaves,  but  with  willing  movements  and  happy  faces. 
As  the  rear  of  the  procession  drew  nigh,  were  heard 
the  cheers  of  "Sadhu!  Sadhu!"  from  stragglers  who 
followed  it.  But  the  march  was  attended  by  no 
sound  of  war  drums,  for  in  their  stead  the  Law  of 
Righteousness  reverberated. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  line,  came  a  chariot  drawn 
by  milk-white  horses,  old  and  fat  and  lazy,  and 
allowed  to  make  the  pace  for  the  whole  cavalcade. 
This  vehicle  was  conspicuous  for  its  shabbiness  com 
pared  with  the  gilded  turnouts  before  and  behind. 
It  was  the  hunting  car  of  King  Asoko,  in  which,  so 
many  years  before,  he  had  followed  the  chase  to 
watch  the  dying  agonies  of  nervous  wild  creatures. 

That  now  purified  conveyance  rolled  along 
empty.  Behind  it,  with  his  bare,  shaven  head 
shielded  from  the  mid-day  sun  by  a  coarse  palm- 
leaf  shade  carried  in  his  own  hand,  trudged  an  old, 
worn-faced  man  clad  only  in  the  three-fold  yellow 
robes  and  girdle  of  the  ascetic  brotherhood.  This 
was  the  God-Beloved,  Gracious  Asoko,  Maharaja 
over  the  vast  territories  of  the  Ariyas! 

The  two  by-standers  assumed  respectful  attitudes 
as  the  chariot  passed,  but  its  follower's  eyes  were 
submissive  to  thoughts  that  abode  while  his  body 
wandered.  His  ear  nevertheless  was  open  to  the 
feeblest  petition  of  those  who  needed  his  arm  to  save. 

A  faint,  woeful  croak  went  up  from  the  roadside 
and  his  glance  fell  upon  the  wounded  frog.  Directing 
the  driver  of  his  empty  car  to  halt,  he  stepped  down 
upon  the  path  and  lifted  the  little  animal  in  a  corner 
of  his  outer  garment. 

"Hambho!  King  nu  kho  ettha  karanang — How 
now!  what  can  be  the  cause  of  this?"  he  inquired 
searchingly  of  Revato. 

"It  was  committed  by  a  tortoise,  Great  King, 
for  what  motive  I  do  not  know." 

"Let  us  rejoice  that  none  wiser  than  he  hath  this 
crime  to  answer  for,"  rejoined  Piyadassi.  "Poor 
little  friend,"  he  added  addressing  his  living  burden, 
"thine  enemy  shall  have  his  recompense  one  day 
but  thou  must  bear  him  no  ill  will.  Be  patient  and 
I  will  send  for  an  unguent  which  may  afford  thee 
some  relief." 

By  this  time  Piyadassi  had  recognized  Revato 
and  also  Prote,  both  of  whom,  in  their  respective 

i] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


relations  to  the  throne,  had  previously  appeared 
before  him.  He  greeted  them  in  a  manner  dry  but 
mild,  ungracious  but  kind,  and  to  one  who  could 
waive  externals,  indefinably  winning.  At  his  com 
mand,  they  came  close  to  the  chariot.  Their  pre 
sence  in  companionship  raised  in  him  no  question, 
for  the  increasing  abstraction  of  age  had  concen 
trated  him  upon  subjects  of  devout  concern.  And 
then,  not  as  a  king  but  as  a  preacher,  he  saw  fit  to 
hold  them  in  audience. 

"In  times  long  ago  it  was  my  wont  to  wander 
forth  upon  so-called  'tours  of  pleasure,'  during  which 
I  engaged  in  hunting  and  similar  amusements.  I 
arranged  fights  of  rams  and  bulls  and  rhinoceroses 
and  elephants  and  other  animals,  wagering  my 
crown  jewels  upon  the  outcome.  When  I  followed 
the  chase  I  was  attended  by  hundreds  of  female 
archers  and  they  smote  with  death  whoever  would 
trespass  within  the  ropes  of  the  field.  With  my 
own  hand  I  deprived  of  life  thousands  of  living 
creatures.  I  took  delight  as  I  watched  the  death 
struggles  of  tender  deer  and  antelopes  upon  which 
my  shafts  had  fallen  like  fire  upon  a  heap  of  flowers. 
But  ten  years  after  I  had  been  consecrated  as  king, 
I  went  forth  on  the  road  to  wisdom.  From  that 
time  I  have  engaged  no  more  in  'tours  of  pleasure' 
but  in  tours  of  piety,  wherein  I  have  practiced  the 
visitation  of  samanas  and  Brahmins,  with  liberality 
to  them,  the  visitation  of  elders  with  largess  of  gold, 
the  visitation  of  the  people  of  the  country  with  in 
struction  in  the  Holy  Dhamma  and  discussion  of 
the  Holy  Dhamma.  These  are  now  the  pleasures 
which  I  enjoy  in  exchange  for  my  evil  pleasures  of 
the  past.  The  life  of  every  living  thing,  be  it  great 
or  small,  is  now  precious  to  me  as  the  lives  of  my 
own  children.  I  would  not  myself  do  it  an  injury, 
neither  will  I  that  it  be  harmed  by  others.  No 
longer  within  my  dominions  do  men  lawfully  burn 
forests  or  fields  or  chaff,  lest  they  destroy  the  puny 
creatures  which  have  there  made  their  homes. 
Moreover  I  have  issued  sacred  rules  that  many 
species  of  animals  shall  be  exempt  from  slaughter 
for  food.  The  excellent  effect  of  meditation  is  now 
seen,  the  growth  of  piety  among  men  and  a  more 
nearly  complete  abstention  from  killing  animate 
creatures  and  from  the  sacrificial  slaughter  of  living 
creatures.  But  since  it  is  not  enough  merely  to 
refrain  from  molestation  or  to  cause  others  thus  to 
refrain,  I  have  made  curative  provisions  for  the  ail 
ments  of  men  and  of  beasts  so  far  as  my  realm  ex 
tends,  and  beyond  it  in  the  territories  of  many 
neighboring  kings,  from  the  country  of  Antlyako  the 
Yona  to  the  island  of  Tambapannidipa.  Medicinal 
herbs  also,  wholesome  for  men  and  wholesome  for 
animals,  I  have  imported  and  planted  wheresoever 
they  were  needed.  Roots  too,  and  fruits,  wherever 
lacking,  I  have  both  imported  and  planted.  On  the 
roads  I  have  caused  wells  to  be  dug  and  trees  to  be 
set  out  for  the  enjoyment  of  man  and  beast.  Much 
is  the  relief  and  much  the  good  which  may  be 
wrought  even  here  in  this  world;  notwithstanding, 


I  have  come  to  realize  that  nothing  is  of  really 
great  importance  except  that  which  relates  to  Life 
Hereafter."* 

While  Asoko  was  speaking,  there  came  to  Revato's 
mind  the  thought  that  this  was  the  opportune  time 
he  had  been  looking  for  to  petition  the  king  con 
cerning  his  official  difficulties.  But  in  the  presence 
of  Prote,  he  felt  an  overmastering  reluctance  to  do 
so.  Bold  as  he  was  in  exhibiting  himself  to  the 
stares  of  the  world  in  her  company,  defying  both 
Ariyaka  and  Yonaka  decorum,  he  dared  not  excite 
her  scorn  with  his  ethical  quibbles.  So  he  warded 
off  his  impulse  of  duty  as  best  he  could,  postponing 
his  address  to  the  king  to  some  more  convenient 
season.  His  indecision  was  bidding  fair  to  keep  him 
at  Pataliputta  forever! 

A  pause  in  Piyadassi's  discourse  furnished  oppor 
tunity  for  interjection  of  a  word  of  impatience  by 
a  withered,  shaven-headed  man  who  sat  in  the 
chariot  beside  him.  This  was  the  Thera  Upagutto, 
Tisso,  Primate  of  the  Religion  of  the  Dhamma,  who 
at  the  first  had  led  the  king  into  the  Faith  and  ever 
since  had  guided  him  in  its  ways.  Submissively, 
Asoko  broke  off  his  oration  to  Revato  and  Prote. 

Now,  as  it  happened,  there  stood  near  the  rest 
house  a  palasa  tree  under  which  had  been  built  a 
tiny  structure  with  thatched  roof,  showing  that  the 
neighboring  villagers  believed  the  tree  to  be  the  home 
of  a  sylvan  sprite. 

-  Just  before  the  arrival  of  the  king's  procession,  a 
poor  ignorant  man  and  his  wife  had  come  there  to 
make  their  little  ball  oblations  to  the  devata — a 
handful  of  flowers,  a  husk  cake  and  some  water  in  a 
cocoanut  shell.  After  the  royal  cortege  appeared, 
they  remained  where  they  were,  gazing  on  the  spec 
tacle.  When  Asoko  had  done  talking  to  Revato  and 
was  about  to  resume  his  place  behind  his  carriage, 
his  eye  fell  upon  this  poor  couple  and  the  votive 
provisions  that  they  had  set  under  the  tree.  Straight 
way  he  procured  from  his  attendants  a  wreath  of 
choice  flowers  and  a  flask  of  perfume,  which  he 
carried  to  the  tree  and  laid  with  the  other  gifts. 
Slowly  he  performed  this  rite,  not  hastening  away, 
but  lingering  reverently  beside  the  astonished, 
trembling  worshippers. 

Revato  looked  on  with  amazement,  not  only  at 
the  condescension  of  Majesty,  but  at  the  self-abnega 
tion  of  Wisdom  which  would  deny  itself  in  order  to 
share  with  the  foolish  in  so  crude  a  ceremony. 

The  most  gorgeous  equipage  in  the  procession  was 
a  chariot  plated  with  gold,  studded  with  gems  and 
shaded  by  a  deep-fringed  silken  chatta,  or  umbrella, 
of  peacock  hues.  The  occupant  was  a  brilliantly 
apparelled  young  man  with  a  huge  jeweled  sword 
and  a  very  dark  scowl,  presumably  occasioned  by 
the  delay. 

"The  prince  Dasaratho,"  whispered  Prote  to 
Revato. 


*Adapted  from  the  graven  Edicts,  using  version  in  Smith's 
"Asoka." 


52] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


After  the  rear  guard,  which  like  all  the  rest  of  the 
company  except  Dasaratho,  was  unarmed,  followed 
a  rabble  of  spectators  and  beggars,  lay  and  clerical. 
Among  the  latter  Revato  espied  Digho  and  Natha- 
putto,  the  two  Nigantha  yatis  with  whom  we  had 
fraternized  and  quarreled  on  the  road  from  Rajagaha. 
They  failed  to  notice  him,  although  they  passed  so 
near  that  he  could  overhear  Nathaputto  remark  of 
some  unnamed  person: 

"He'll  soon  come  to  his  own." 

While  Asoko  was  performing  his  devotions,  a 
grand  official  on  an  elephant  had  greeted  Prote 
familiarly  and,  calling  her  to  his  side,  engaged  her  in 
conversation  which  Revato  did  not  hear.  He 
noticed,  however,  the  arch  glances  she  turned 
toward  him  and  the  backward  leer  he  flung  at  her  as 
the  procession  moved  on. 

"Who  was  the  gentleman  that  you  spoke  to?" 
asked  Revato  of  Prote  after  the  march  had  passed. 

"  Did  you  not  know  him?  That  was  the  Dhamma- 
mahamatta,  The  High  Minister  of  Religion." 

"You  and  he  seem  to  be  good  friends." 

"He  controls  the  funds  for  ecclesiastical  architec 
ture,"  she  answered  cannily. 

"A  sad  sight  we  have  witnessed,"  remarked  Prote 
as  they  floated  down  the  Hirannabahu  river  toward 
home.  "It  is  as  if  the  Temple  of  All  Gods  in  Athens 
were  given  over  to  bats  and  crawling  lizards." 

"If  the  sight  of  Piyadassi's  old  age  so  distresses 
you,"  answered  Revato,  "you  must  admit  that 
life  is,  after  all,  a  bauble." 


The  sight  of  old  age  is  nothing,"  she  rejoined.  "A 
slave,  a  goat,  or  a  hen  may  grow  old.  We  care  naught 
for  that,  but  we  deplore  to  see  the  lofty  abased,  the 
powerful  paralyzed,  the  majestic  made  ridiculous." 

"I  fail  to  perceive  the  ludicrous  side,"  answered 
Revato.  "And  as  to  power,  there  is  none  like  that 
of  the  mind  under  a  calm  exterior.  One  of  the  old 
arahats  said,  'By  will  I  could  cause  a  mad  elephant 
to  breathe  not  even  to  a  measure  of  a  blade  of  kusa 
grass.'  Think  how  Piyadassi  has  quieted  the 
furious  elephant  herd  of  mankind." 

"Layman  Revato,"  said  Prote  soberly,  "I  have 
been  disposed  to  make  you  my  friend,  for  I  have  felt 
that  there  was  a  great  power  in  you  which  needs  only 
a  proper  application.  But  let  me  say  frankly  that 
I  am  beginning  to  look  upon  you  with  contempt. 
The  men  whom  we  honor  are  not  those  that  chatter 
like  parrots,  submit  like  cattle  or  squeal  at  pain  like 
puppies,  but  those  who  see  before  them  a  goal  and 
reach  it.  Some  cross  shadowy  seas,  some  take 
strong  cities;  others  whose  skilful  hand  Hephaistos 
and  Pallas  Athene  have  instructed,  pour  gold 
around  silver  and  achieve  beautiful  works.  Each 
trains  to  the  utmost  every  faculty  that  can  serve 
him,  and  then  resolutely,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  he 
presses  forward  to  the  end.  The  proof  of  my  words 
is  our  civilization;  the  example  nearest  to  hand  is 
the  architect  Diomedes." 

Her  rebuke  hurt  him  sorely  but  he  understood 
that  it  was  meant  rather  as  a  spur  than  as  a  dagger. 
So  it  proved,  for  she  quickly  resumed  her  gracious 
demeanor  and  was  aimiable  as  ever  during  the 
remainder  of  the  voyage  to  Gotamo's  Ferry. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  HOUSE  OF  DIOMEDES 


HE  THAT  WAVERETH 

Antinomianism,  like  the  laurel  sacred  to  ^Escula- 
pius,  is  a  deadly  poison,  but  after  the  nature  of 
pernicious  drugs,  if  taken  by  small  doses,  in  proper 
cases,  it  proves  a  salutary  tonic.  However  the 
philosophy  of  "beyond  good  and  evil"  may  be 
ambrosial  food  for  To  Evs,  it  is  no  pabulum  for  angels 
nor  men  unless,  under  peculiar  conditions,  most 
cautiously  administered. 

How  the  teaching  to  common  people  of  superiority 
to  moral  law  will  cast  them  down  to  lowest  depravity, 
was  witnessed  by  both  of  those  audaciously  speculat 
ing  races  who  met  at  Pataliputta  in  Revato's  time. 
Among  the  Ariyas  in  their  Brahmanical,  not  Buddh 
ist,  sects,  mystical  sages  reached  out  for  a  God  so 
infinite  as  to  be  unlimited  even  by  righteousness, 
and  when  this  notion  trickled  down  to  the  ignorant 
masses,  it  innoculated  them  with  the  venom  of  that 
moral  plague  with  which  India  is  still  putrid. 


The  lore  of  Hellas  also  was  threaded  with  doctrines 
of  irresponsibility,  whether  in  the  examples  of  the  old 
mythology  in  the  skeptical  and  pleasurable  advise 
ments  of  the  Heracliteans  that  "good  and  bad  are 
the  same,  to  God  all  things  are  fair  and  just,"  or 
in  the  sane,  prudential  counsels  of  the  Peripatetics. 
Whichever  of  these  was  the  most  efficient  cause  of 
the  taint,  it  had  broken  out  vilely  on  the  fairness  of 
that  incomparable  civilization. 

But  to  natures  like  Revato's,  where  perverse 
conscientiousness  has  become  a  fever,  a  prescription 
of  license  may  act  with  cooling  and  clarifying 
potency.  Cajolement  of  pleasure,  remittal  or 
obscuration  of  consequences,  may  release  the 
compressed  energies  of  the  mind  to  an  elastic  up- 
spring,  an  abandon  strong  for  happy  achievement. 

Somewhat  such  a  liberation  he  was  now  experienc 
ing,  albeit  reservation  must  be  made  of  the  ques 
tions  whether  in  his  case  the  stimulant  was  rightly 
measured  and  whether  likely  to  have  permanent 

53] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


effect;  whether  the  morbid  factor  in  his  make-up 
was — to  use  a  cant  medical  term — functional,  or 
organic  and  incapable  of  being  eradicated;  whether, 
indeed,  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be  other  than  a 
shuttlecock  of  reactions  between  those  opposite 
elements  in  his  nature,  the  perennial  melancholy 
and  the  evanescent  joy. 

His  association  with  the  Yonas  had  intoxicated 
him  as  if  by  some  drug  which  clarifies  the  mind  for 
eager  endeavor,  confusing  only  malevolent  ideas. 
Or  it  was 

"Like  the  full  moon  after  sunsetting, 
Rising  rose-fingered  and  magical — 
Ancient  lights  merged  in  effulgency 
Starry  eyes  blurred  to  obscurity 
Vague  with  salt  ocean  and  pasturage, 
Whereon  dream-tinted,  indefinite 
Roses  wild-nurtured,  with  anthryscas, 
Clover  blooms,  honey-secretory 
Drink  the  earth  dews  to  their  quickening." 

Thus  the  sinister  logic  of  duty  was  confuted  in  the 
only  way  that  he  could  confute  it — by  forgetfulness. 
A  diverting  absorption  of  interest  enabled  him,  when 
old  notions  recurred,  to  slur  them  over  and  avoid 
transfixation  of  their  fatal  details.  Unhindered  by 
particulars,  he  could  contrast  the  life  purposes  of 
Ariya  and  Yonaka,  making  himself  almost  believe 
that  he  had  found  a  worthy  relief  from  Buddhist 
negations  in  Hellenic  affirmations.  His  mind  minia 
tured  the  world's  battleground  of  thought  whereon 
are  opposingly  aligned  the  East  and  the  West,  the 
forces  of  asceticism  and  aestheticism,  of  self-repres 
sion  and  self-expression,  of  solidarity  and  individu 
ality,  of  renunciation  and  realization,  of  the  will  to 
refrain  and  the  will  to  act,  of  life  for  the  future  and 
life  in  the  present. 

What  a  newness  of  heart  suffused  him  with  this 
perfectly  novel  conception — the  liberality,  the  toler 
ance  of  man's  divine  guardians,  their  will  that  we 
should  be  happy,  their  good-humored  short-sighted 
ness  when  sometimes  we  overstep  the  mark! 

If  results  signified,  Prote's  careless  way  must  be 
better  than  his  own  punctilious  one,  for  while  he 
became  deeper  entangled  in  the  jungle,  she  bounded 
in  the  grassy  open  and  sang  the  praises  of  those  who 
did  great  beautiful  deeds. 

Were  not  also  the  pitying  acts  of  Asoko  great 
beautiful  deeds?  Yes,  but  they  were  of  the  sort  to 
which  Revato's  mind  was  habituated  and  which 
were  cognate  with  his  old  ill-working  system,  whereas 
the  accomplishments  of  Diomedes  inspired  him  by 
their  freshness. 

Revato  was  not  insensitive  to  that  Grecian  vein 
of  cruelty,  whereof  had  he  not  already  witnessed 
harrowing  exhibitions?  But  the  effect  of  these  upon 
him  was  other  than  it  would  have  been  had  they 
occurred  less  early  in  his  new  experience.  They 
might  have  sufficed  to  shatter  a  favorable  opinion 
already  crystallized,  but  they  could  be  accommo 
dated  by  opinions  that  were  still  liquid.  When  we 
know  the  worst,  it  is  easier  to  appreciate  the  best. 


Doubtless,  also,  there  was  in  Revato's  attitude  a 
tinge  of  selfishness  which  disposed  him  to  condone 
unkindness  to  others  in  those  who  were  kind  to  him. 

It  would  be  hypocritical  folly  to  dissemble  that 
Revato  was  influenced  most  of  all  by  Prote's  per 
sonality.  Much  as  he  might  pretend  to  abstractions, 
and  much  of  truth  as  there  might  be  in  the  pretence, 
the  strongest  appeal  was  the  concrete  one  of  human 
ity.  The  best  of  us  are  materially  definite  in  our 
susceptibilities  and  are  naively  controlled  by  sensuous 
argumenta  ad  hominum.  A  cool,  caressing  air  on  the 
cheek  or  a  dry  one  in  the  lungs  will  make  for  us  the 
happy  destiny  of  all  worlds.  So,  individual  gladness 
in  Prote's  loveliness  no  doubt  did  more  to  impel 
Revato's  philosophical  handsprings  than  any  power 
of  reason. 

Nevertheless,  Revato's  lifelong  preoccupations 
were  still  so  mighty  as  almost  to  subjugate  human 
trivialities  and  enslave  the  particular  to  the  general. 

Eagerly  he  gave  himself  to  the  investigation  of 
Hellenism  as  an  emancipating  power,  suspecting 
that  the  examples  he  had  already  seen  were  only 
slight  indicia  of  the  magnificent  whole.  He  fell  to 
hoping  also  that  it  enshrouded  a  secret  which  he 
might  discover — a  secret  which  would  reconcile 
incompatible  contraries — the  free,  glad  life  with  the 
life  and  hereafter  of  righteousness. 

If  not  this  yearned-for  secret,  at  least  a  larger 
knowledge  of  Grecian  culture  now  directly  awaited 
him  in  his  arranged-forvisit  at  the  house  of  Diomedes. 

His  invitation  for  the  third  day  of  the  bright 
pakka,  or  fortnight,  of  the  month  Magasira,  was  still 
outstanding  and  the  time  was  drawing  near.  The 
definiteness  thereof  began  to  strike  him  with  terror. 

It  was  one  thing  to  fall  in  company  by  Prote  by 
chance — albeit  a  favored  chance — and  succumb  to 
the  delightful  confusion  of  the  interview;  it  was  quite 
another  matter  to  make  such  a  meeting  by  set 
arrangement,  with  intervening  days  for  reconsidera 
tion.  The  real  excitant  of  these  conscience  pangs 
was  his  sense  of  the  wrong  for  him  of  association  with 
the  Yonaki  girl;  the  formal  reason  that  he  gave 
himself  for  his  scruple  was  his  vow  or  quasi-vow, 
made  on  the  morning  when  first  he  met  her.  Had  he 
not  promised  himself  to  avoid  her,  to  abstain  from 
speech  with  her  and  to  guard  his  heart  well  if  she 
should  speak  to  him?  All  these  three  fortresses  of 
conduct  he  had  betrayed  again  and  again.  To  sur 
render  the  first  two  with  fresh  resolves  to  hold  the 
third  was  hardly  worthy  the  name  of  self-deception, 
yet  this  poor  artifice  he  employed  upon  himself 
repeatedly  after  it  had  been  discredited  by  the 
event.  Revato  did  not  however  attempt  to  override 
his  "vow"  merely  by  virtue  of  the  subsequent 
acceptance  of  Diomedes'  invitation,  for  he  was  too 
searching  a  moralist  to  hold  that  a  duty  may  be 
shirked  by  incurring  a  subsequent  contrary  obliga 
tion. 

With  vain  ingenuity  of  argument,  Revato  offered 
himself  most  diverse  reasons  for  the  contemplated 


[54] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


visit.  Sometimes  he  would  make  believe  that  he 
might,  by  presentation  of  Buddho's  truth,  win  the 
Yonas  from  the  errors  of  their  ways;  he  imagined 
himself  laying  this  view  of  the  case  before  Bharadvajo 
and  the  old  samana's  rejoinder  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  seek  every  opportunity  for  converting  an  un 
believer.  Does  the  heart  ever  outgrow  its  yearning 
for  that  license  which  consists  in  shifting  responsi 
bility  upon  some  tolerant  human  authority? 

With  less  insincerity,  Revato  pictured  the  necessity 
of  company  with  Diomedes  in  order  to  be  further 
initiated  into  Yonaka  mysteries.  He  had  already 
ventured  too  far  to  regain  his  old  footing;  he  must 
go  on  and  learn  the  whole  truth,  casting  himself  upon 
the  grace  of  the  new  wisdom  to  sustain  him  in  its 
own  way. 

The  unrest  into  which  this  battle  between  duty  and 
inclination  threw  him  so  occupied  his  mind  as  to  leave 
no  room  for  a  return,  at  that  time,  of  the  old  struggle 
regarding  his  tax  collectorship.  While  to  him  the 
sanction  of  a  pledge  made  in  his  own  mind  was  far 
weaker  than  an  obligation  growing  out  of  an  evil 
course  of  conduct  damaging  to  others,  and  there 
fore  this  new  difficulty  should  seem  less  acute  than 
the  old  one,  still  the  present  question  was  nearer, 
perhaps  dearer  to  him,  and  so  acquired  a  temporary 
paramountcy.  If,  therefore,  the  quietude  of  his  old 
troubles  was  in  part  attributable  to  buoyancy  of 
mind,  it  was  also  due  to  these  later  perplexities,  to 
which  even  the  factors  of  his  emancipation  gave  rise. 
Hardly  can  more  than  one  great  woe  occupy  the 
mind  at  a  given  time.  The  coming  of  a  new  one 
quiets  the  old  one  as  an  ache  in  a  new  part  of  the 
body  relieves  a  former  one  somewhere  else.  The  diffi 
culty  on  which  attention  is  fixed  appears  more  serious 
than  a  graver  one  that  is  temporarily  neglected. 

As  nearer  drew  the  day  for  the  visit,  Revato's 
misgivings  increased  until,  in  the  lucubrations  of  the 
sleepless  night  before  it,  he  made  an  insincere 
resolve  to  absent  himself.  Daylight,  however, 
brought  the  courage,  true  or  false,  of  a  different 
purpose.  When  the  fateful  hour  arrived,  he  took  the 
bit  between  his  teeth  and  dashed  through  every 
ethical  objection. 

FIRE 

This  day  on  which  Revato  betook  himself  to 
Diomedes'  house  was  a  festival  of  the  Yonas  when 
the  workmen  were  relieved  from  their  toils  in  the 
new  sangharama.  But  the  architect,  who  would  not 
absent  himself  from  his  idolized  building  for  an  en 
tire  day,  had  named  an  afternoon  hour  when  he 
should  have  returned  from  the  island.  The  ap 
pointed  time  fell  in  the  midst  of  a  heavy,  cold,  rain 
storm.  The  house,  which  Revato  had  passed  more 
than  once  before,  stood  a  long  distance  east  of  his 
lodging,  being  situated  north  of  the  Market  Street, 
about  midway  to  the  riverside.  It  had  been  built 
by  its  occupant  according  to  his  own  ideas  and  looked 
from  the  outside,  in  every  way,  different  from  the 
usual  high,  narrow  ornate  dwellings  of  the  city. 


Separated  from  the  street  by  a  narrow  yard,  the 
wide,  massive,  plastered  front  wall  of  the  building, 
only  one  story  high,  was  blankly  plain  except  for 
the  door,  two  small  windows  and  a  niche  containing 
a  woman's  helmeted  head.  On  the  door  also  was  a 
bronze  lion  head  holding  in  its  mouth  a  heavy  ring 
whereby  visitors  might  make  known  their  presence. 
Revato  lifted  the  ring  and  let  it  drop  back  with  a 
sharp,  metallic  rap. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  native  servant,  so  that 
Revato  was  saved  the  trouble  he  had  apprehended  of 
making  himself  intelligible.  He  had  been  expected; 
would  he  come  through  into  the  aula? 

On  entering,  Revato  found  himself  in  a  narrow 
hall  on  one  side  of  which  seemed  to  be  the  porter's 
lodge,  while  the  pervasive  odor  of  a  stable  aroused 
his  suspicions  of  the  other.  At  the  rear,  the  hall 
debouched  into  a  court  situated  not  unlike  those  of 
native  mansions,  but  different  in  design.  A  colonade 
ran  around  it  and  about  a  central  fountain  grew 
plants  of  unknown  species.  They  now  dripped  with 
rain  as  well  as  spray.  While  the  attendant  was 
hesitating  whether  to  deposit  him  upon  one  of  the 
chairs  of  this  paradise  or  consign  him  to  some 
reception  room,  Prote  herself  emerged  from  a 
passageway  on  the  further  side  of  the  court  and 
came  to  welcome  him.  This  might  or  might  not 
have  been  according  to  the  proprieties  of  her  nation, 
but  for  her  it  was  entirely  fitting.  She  bade  him 
into  a  parlor  opening  from  the  court  pending  the 
appearance  of  her  father  who  was  delayed  on  his 
return  from  the  island. 

The  storm  had  cast  such  a  wintry  chill  upon  the 
house  that  Prote  called  for  a  brazier  of  coals,  and, 
quickly  dissatisfied  with  their  sole  effect,  had  them 
applied  to  kindle  a  well-prepared  pile  of  dry  wood  on 
a  fire-place  of  the  apartment.  The  flames  quickly 
burst  out  and  cheered  the  twilight  of  the  room. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  hearth-stone  before?"  she 
asked  Revato.  "This  is  the  way  we  console  our 
selves  through  the  winters  in  my  island  home.  There 
snow  comes  down  upon  us  from  the  dull  mountains 
into  the  frosty  brown  valley  while  we  look  upon  a 
ragged,  terrifying  sea." 

"In  my  home  among  the  hills,"  he  answered,  "the 
nights  are  sometimes  so  cool  that  we  shiver  unless 
we  have  a  fire.  Did  you  ever  reflect,"  he  continued, 
"how  two  branches  rubbing  may  start  a  blaze,  but 
the  whole  forest  cannot  extinguish  it?  And,  Prote,  as 
I  sit  here  before  these  pleasant  flames  my  heart  con 
demns  me  for  I  think  of  the  Blessed  One's  rejoinder 
in  the  herdsman's  cottage." 

"  'I  have  boiled  my  broth,  I  have  milked  my  kine,' 

Said  the  herdsman  Dhaniyo; 
'We  dwell  by  the  Mahi,  I  and  mine, 

My  hut  is  roofed  and  the  fire's  aglow; 
Now,  Cloud-god,  rain  if  thou  dost  incline..' 

"  'I  have  quelled  my  sloth,  I  have  balked  my  spite,' 

Answering,  Bhagava  said; 
'By  the  Mahi  dwelling  a  single  night, 

My  hut  is  roofless,  the  fire  is  dead; 
Now,  Cloud-god,  rain  to  thy  full  delight.'  " 


55] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


Her  reply  was  in  the  words  of  one  of  her  native 
songs : 

"  Rages  the  Storm  God,  huge  in  his  heaven; 
Winter  lays  hold  on  the  swift-gliding  waters; 
Deep  in  dense  woodlands,  wide  on  the  ocean, 
Thracian  tempest  winds  bellow. 

"Abate  thou  the  cold;  heap  fire-wood  aplenty; 
Mingle  with  honey  strong  wine,  unconsidered; 
Bind  on  thy  brow  soft,  curled  woolen  comforts. 
Gloom  no  guerdon  hath,  grief  no  emolument. 
Bacchus,  Oh  cure  our  sick  souls  with  thy  simples, 
Making  us  glad  and  forgetful. " 

While  thus  Revato  waited  with  a  lulled  heart, 
intoxicated  by  the  liquid  fire-light  and  the  aromatic 
smoke  of  the  well-cleft  sticks  and  by  Prote's  pres 
ence,  the  master  of  the  house  entered.  After  a  kind, 
if  condescending  greeting,  Diomedes  called  for 
lamps  and  took  his  visitor  about  the  lofty-roofed 
guest  rooms  to  point  out  the  objects  of  curious 
charm  with  which  they  were  filled.  These  had  come 
either  from  his  own  land  or  from  its  nearer-by  colonies 
or  had  been  designed  upon  the  spot  by  him  and 
his  assistants  as  models  and  studies  for  their  work. 

SCIENCE 

Such  a  bewildering  array  of  little  white  and 
colored  gods  and  goddesses;  of  loharupas,  bronze 
images;  of  jars  with  narrow  necks,  slender  stems  and 
graceful  handles,  made  of  delicate,  lustrous  mate 
rials  and  engraven  with  festal  processions!  Here 
stood  lamps  and  basins  and  glassware  of  marvelous 
patterns  and  polished  silver  mirrors.  The  walls 
hardly  had  room  for  all  the  drawings,  casts  and 
models  of  architectural  details  and  embellishments. 
Untrained  as  he  was  in  art  criticism,  Revato  could 
only  view  the  ensemble  with  confused  wonder,  con 
scious  nevertheless  of  the  preternatural  beauty  that 
pervaded  it. 

"Whoever,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "has  put  so 
much  wisdom  into  clay  or  plaster  or  stone,  "cannot 
be  altogether  foolish.  Perhaps  he  could  teach  me 
many  things  which  I  am  anxious  to  know  and  could 
point  me  to  paths  which  I  cannot  find." 

"I  have  also,  friend,"  said  Diomedes,  "some  other 
devices  in  my  house  which  you  may  like  better  than 
these."  So  saying,  he  led  the  way  through  the 
court  to  a  door  near  the  back  which  opened  into  a 
great  workshop  and  storehouse  of  mechanical  con 
trivances.  Here  were  clever  arrangements  of  levers 
and  pulleys,  screws  and  cog  wheels,  with  which,  by 
exerting  ft  little  strength,  vast  power  might  be 
produced,  whether  for  hoisting  blocks  of  marble  or 
for  pressing  out  the  fluid  of  grapes  and  olives. 
There  were  engines  with  moving  pistons  for  raising 
water  and  for  doing  work  by  falling  water.  Diomedes 
pointed  out  a  double  pump  which  could  throw  a 
steady  stream  to  extinguish  a  conflagration.  Little 
fountains  played  in  glass  vessels  of  intricate  arrange 
ment.  There  were  reservoirs  which  discharged  in 
ingenious  ways  to  tell  the  hour  of  day.  A  little  four 
wheeled  wagon  carried  on  one  axle  an  instrument  by 


looking  at  which  the  driver  might  know  the  distance 
traveled.  A  box  of  pipes  discoursed  music  when 
blown  by  air  under  the  force  of  falling  water.  The 
same  inspiration  caused  a  lifeless  bird  to  sing.  What 
would  the  dumb,  grotesque,  elaborately  plumed 
silver  birds  in  the  old  Moriya  palace  have  thought  if 
their  insensate  ears  could  have  heard  it?  A  little 
temple  opened  its  doors  when  flames  were  kindled 
on  a  neighboring  altar,  the  secret  of  which  lay,  as 
Diomedes  explained,  in  the  power  of  the  element 
air,  when,  in  the  hollow  altar,  it  was  incited  by  the 
element  fire.  He  then  opened  the  window  shutters 
of  the  temple  and  was  greeted  by  a  trumpet  call. 
Beside  the  temple  were  a  row  of  miniature  theatres 
on  the  stages  of  which  a  flying  fish  sprang  from  water, 
a  blacksmith  smote  an  anvil,  mimes  danced  and 
lightning  flashed  from  the  hand  of  a  helmeted  god — 
all  without  human  intervention. 

On  one  table  stood  atrocious  engines  of  war — 
battering  rams  on  wheels,  cross  bows  bent  with 
windlasses  and  stout  spring  poles  that  would  hurl 
rocks  over  city  walls.  "I  have  vainly  entreated 
Piyadassi  to  strengthen  his  armament  according  to 
these  models,"  remarked  Diomedes.  Revato  saw 
several  globulous  glasses  which,  when  looked  through, 
made  the  object  on  the  other  side  appear  larger  than 
it  really  was.  The  architect  told  him  that  if  these 
were  held  toward  the  sun  they  would  cause  fire. 
A  hollow  mirror,  which  he  showed,  would  do  the 
same,  and  if  made  large  enough,  might  even  ignite 
an  enemy's  ships.  Most  marvelous  of  all  was  a 
wheel  with  spokes  or  stages  like  the  Wheel  of  Life, 
which  would  spin  round  when  blown  by  a  jet  of 
steam  from  a  pipe  in  the  mouth  of  a  brazen  image. 

"How  do  all  these  inventions  appeal  to  you,  a 
philosopher?"  inquired  Diomedes.  "Our  Ionian 
sages  scorn  them  as  fit  only  for  an  occupation  of 
slaves,  though  I,  as  an  architect,  better  appreciate 
their  value.  They  minister  to  Beauty,  by  assisting 
in  her  works,  be  this  their  only  worthy  purpose." 

"To  relieve  the  labor  of  men  and  animals," 
answered  Revato,  "their  hunger  and  thirst  and 
disease  and  anguish,  some  of  these  things  might  be 
good.  But  in-so-far  as  they  pander  to  cruelty  or 
luxury,  they  are  worse  than  useless." 

"Luxury,"  replied  Diomedes,  "is  relative.  When 
people  become  civilized,  as  ours  are,  then  what 
formerly  they  accounted  luxuries  become  necessary 
comforts." 

"First,"  said  Revato,  "bring  all  up  to  the  same 
mark  of  welfare.  Until  then,  riches  are  a  pain  to 
those  who  see  but  do  not  have  them,  and  a  curse  to 
those  who  possess  them  exclusively." 

"But,"  Diomedes  continued,  "is  there  not  still 
another  kind  of  benefit  which  may  be  derived  from 
our  experiments  with  the  elements,  earth,  air, 
water  and  fire  and  from  our  observations  of  land  and 
sea  and  heavens?  I  mean,  do  they  not  lead  us  to  a 
knowledge  of  Truth?" 

"If  only  we  knew  it  to  be  Truth,"  said  Revato, 
"but  can  we  trust  our  perceptions?" 


[56] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


By  way  of  reply  Diomedes  inscribed  on  a  tablet  a 
triangle  and  proceeded,  step  by  step,  to  prove  to 
Revato  that  the  sum  of  the  interior  angles  was  equal 
to  two  right  angles.  "Have  you  any  doubt  in  the 
matter?"  he  asked. 

"None  at  all,"  Revato  replied. 

"Similarly,"  Diomedes  said,  "I  could  solve  for 
you  harder  problems,  like  the  quadrature  of  the 
parabola.  This  is  in  order  to  let  you  feel  the  firm 
ground  under  you  and  teach  you  confidence.  It  is 
true  that  not  all  forms  of  investigation  admit  of  such 
a  perfect  demonstration,  but  by  training  our  reason 
ing  powers  in  this  way,  as  a  soldier  by  athletic  feats, 
we  are  fitted  to  do  battle  with  the  great  mysteries 
of  the  world." 

A  thrill  passed  over  Revato,  the  wonder  thrill  of 
an  eager,  sanguine  Springtime  of  Science.  To  his 
instructor  it  was  the  Autumn  or  Winter  of  an  old 
Science,  but  for  him  the  cycle  of  seasons  was  just 
opening  and  he  yearned  toward  the  wonderful 
harvests  which  he  felt  able  to  sow  and  reap. 

This,  however,  was  only  a  transitory  emotion,  for 
he  soon  realized  how  little  he  knew  or  could  learn 
compared  with  his  favored  enlighteners. 

"The  means  and  methods  are  not  for  me,"  he  said 
with  a  sigh.  "One  individual  cannot  become  an 
adept  in  everything  and  my  ways  have  otherwise 
led  me.  But  oh  that  before  I  die  I  may  know  the 
farthest  conclusions  which  your  Yonaka  wise  men 
have  reached!  It  will  be  like  living  in  the  days  of  a 
Tathagato." 

"I  fear  that  your  wish  is  not  altogether  a  possible 
one,"  Diomedes  replied.  "The  conclusions  are  so 
abstruse  and  contradictory  that  they  can  not  be 
appreciated  nor  appraised  except  by  one  versed  in 
the  elements  wherewith  they  deal.  Our  sciences  are 
profound  like  your  philosophy  of  the  Dhamma, 
which  when  first  I  studied  it,  seemed  to  me  very 
simple,  but  which  is  becoming  to  me  more  and  more 
elusive  of  grasp,  even  in  the  meaning  of  the  terms 
employed." 

A  BARBARIAN 

When  they  had  finished  examining  the  wonders  of 
the  house  and  had  returned  to  seat  themselves  on 
chairs  of  unusual  design  about  the  fire,  Diomedes 
said:  "Now,  if  you  are  willing,  let  us  open  some  of 
our  Hellenic  books  from  which,  as  you  remember,  I 
promised  to  prove  to  you  that  wisdom  is  not  con 
fined  to  Jambudlpa." 

Thus  saying,  he  produced  from  a  curtained  alcove 
a  round  box  stuffed  full  of  tight  rolls  on  end.  These, 
upon  untying,  proved  to  be  made  of  some  flexible 
membraneous  material  which  the  Yonas  used  in 
continuous  sheets  to  write  on,  instead  of  palm-leaf 
strips  strung  flat  together. 

"This  book,"  said  Diomedes,  "is  the  corner  stone 
of  our  literature  and  is  the  greatest  work  in  the 
world.  Shall  I  read  you  some  of  it." 

"Yes,"  Revato  acquiesced,  "If  you  can't  recite  it. 
We  don't  have  to  read  our  Suttas." 


"Nor  do  we,"  retorted  Diomedes,  "but  we  pre 
fer  to.  Time  was  when  this  book  was  written  in  the 
mind,  as  yours  are.  But  we  found  out  that  the 
human  intelligence  could  be  put  to  better  purposes 
than  economizing  ink  and  parchment." 

Diomedes  commenced  by  reading  aloud  a  few 
gathas  in  the  original  tongue — verses  which  surged, 
low,  loud  and  long  like  storm  winds  on  the  Virijha 
hills.  Now  they  dallied  in  the  head  voluptuously 
like  far-gone  drowsiness,  again  they  became  sonor 
ous  of  action  and  stirred  up  a  will  for  exploits.  Then 
he  began  to  interpret  them  into  Pali  and  continued 
by  communicating  the  meaning  in  preference  to 
the  sound. 

It  was  all  about  a  war  caused  by  lust;  a  married 
woman  had  been  carried  off  by  a  prince  as  Sita  was 
stolen  from  Ramo  by  Ravano,  and  in  consequence 
allied  armies  were  crossing  the  sea  to  attack  the  in 
offensive  subjects  of  the  despoiler.  Their  leaders 
were  boasting  and  swaggering  and  bickering  among 
themselves,  while  shining  devatas  in  the  Heavens  of 
Sense  looked  down  meddlesomely  and  intrigued  and 
quarreled  over  their  unimportant  affairs.  Revato 
did  not  try  to  conceal  his  disgust  with  the  brutal 
fighting  which  the  poet  glorified. 

Prote  was  now  sitting  by  the  hearth  while  she 
she  turned  sea-purpled  threads  of  wool;  going  over 
the  web  she  wove  with  a  golden  shuttle.  Meanwhile 
she  was  not  unmindful  of  her  father's  reading  to 
Revato.  Now  she  interposed: 

"Whenever  one  dispraises  heroic  deeds,  there  is 
reason  to  suspect  that  he  himself  lacks  ambition  and 
courage." 

"The  merit  of  my  criticisms,"  Revato  answered 
back,  "exists  despite  my  own  unworthiness." 

The  story  that  Diomedes  was  reading  went  on  to 
tell  how  one  of  the  invading  rajas,  outdomineering 
the  others,  pranced  about  beating  with  his  royal 
sceptre  any  luckless  proletarians  that  were  not  spry 
enough  to  dodge  him,  and  shouting  the  while: 
"Common  people  have  no  concern  in  government; 
the  wise  devas  have  set  one  man  to  reign  and  rule; 
let  everybody  obey  him." 

Then,  as  the  poet  related,  there  was  found  only  a 
lame,  squinting  hunch-back,  named  Thersites,  who 
dared  to  stand  up  to  the  usurper  and  denounce  the 
lecherousness  and  avarice  for  which  he  was  dragging 
his  countrymen  to  shed  their  blood  in  helping  him 
plunder  cities.  In  punishment,  this  croaker  was 
stricken  by  the  tyrant  with  a  bloody  weal  on  the 
deformed  hump  of  his  back,  the  pain  of  which  made 
him  shed  many  tears.  The  teller  of  the  tale  took 
no  trouble  to  conceal  his  prejudices,  since  he  glorified 
the  despot  while  he  held  Thersites  in  contempt, 
gloating  over  the  ill  shapen  body  as  if  a  mark  of 
character  and  a  fit  subject  for  derisive  scorn. 

"For  my  part,"  interrupted  Revato,  "this 
Thersites  is  the  first  person  in  your  book  whom  I 
have  found  to  admire.  He  is  like  the  ugly,  odious, 
despised  dwarf  Bhaddiyo,  whom  the  Blessed  One 
pronounced  mighty,  strong  and  beautiful." 


[57] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


At  this  judgment,  a  groan  sounded  from  Prote. 
Revato's  literary  criticism  was  too  barbarous  to  be 
heard  in  silence.  Her  experience  with  his  notions, 
however,  enabled  her  to  take  it  without  verbal 
dissent,  but  she  availed  of  the  break  to  comment  on 
other  phases  of  the  episode  that  had  been  read. 
With  youthful,  womanish,  hero-worship  and  mega 
lomania,  she  lauded  the  majesty  of  Odysseus. 

"What  a  dull  world  this  would  be,"  she  contended, 
"if  it  were  all  level  like  the  plains  of  Ganga, — if  there 
were  no  Himavanta  vast  in  altitude,  huge  in  mass!" 
The  generality  of  men,  she  thought,  were  unfit  to  rule 
themselves,  and  there  was  always  someone  more 
competent  than  anybody  else.  Let  him  hold  supreme 
sway  and  breed  an  illustrious  race  to  perpetuate  his 
power.  Let  him  be  endowed  with  all  regal  splendor 
to  fire  the  imaginations  of  his  subjects  and  win 
enthusiastic  devotion  to  the  State  as  typified  in 
him. 

"Enthusiasm,"  retorted  Revato  savagely,  "is  the 
most  effective  whip  in  the  hands  of  tyrants.  With  it 
they  goad  on  every  ignorant  or  thoughtless  man  to 
further  their  own  selfish  ends.  For  this  purpose 
they  create  transcendent  virtues  and  crimes  and  call 
them  by  high-sounding  names  — '  Patriotism,' 
'Loyalty,'  'Lawlessness,'  'Treason,'  and  the  like, 
which  have  little  bearing  upon  public  happiness  but 
serve  the  objects  of  these  oppressors.  The  foe 
against  which  cruel  kings  can  never  be  secure  is  an 
assassin;  hence  they  call  assassination  the  worse  of 
enormities  and  mankind  by  common  consent  have 
accepted  their  judgment." 

"With  good  cause,"  returned  Prote.  "It  is  the 
most  cowardly  and  merciless  of  all  deeds." 

"Cowardly  to  face  almost  certain  capture  and 
death  by  torture!"  exclaimed  Revato.  "If  going  to 
war  be  brave,  then  the  single  stealthy  warrior  is 
most  valorous,  for  his  hazard  is  by  far  the  greatest. 
Merciless  to  remove  by  swift  means  the  perpetrator 
of  a  thousand  slow  murders!  The  assassin  is  like  the 
surgeon  who  skillfully  excises  a  diseased  member; 
the  soldier  at  best  is  like  one  who,  in  order  to  remove 
it,  would  batter  to  pieces  with  a  bludgeon  the  sound 
flesh  of  the  body." 

"Would  you  then  become  an  assassin?"  she 
inquired. 

"I  was  speaking  of  comparative,  not  absolute 
values,"  he  replied.  "In  deeds  that  I  would  not  do 
myself,  I  cannot  resist  a  satisfaction  when  they  are 
performed  by  men  of  elemental  passions,  just  as  I 
might  take  a  grim  pleasure  in  seeing  a  hand  that  was 
raised  to  inflict  anguish  struck  down  by  lightning." 

"Our  friend  is  not  wholly  unreasonable,  Prote," 
said  Diomedes.  "Did  not  a  great  light  arise  to  the 
Athenians  when  Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton  slew 
Hipparchus?  Neither  cause  nor  courage  were 
absent  from  their  deed  nor  did  it  fail  to  win  its 
meed  of  torment." 

Prote  now  perceiving  the  odds  to  be  against  her, 
essayed  to  strengthen  her  original  contention  for  the 
excellence  of  royalty. 


"Who  would  not  suffer  a  hundred  tyrants,"  she 
exclaimed,  "if  only  to  produce  one  Maha-Alasando 
— towering  on  the  battlefield  as  the  Lesbian  singer 
towers  o'er  them  of  other  lands?  His  aim  was  not 
to  enslave  but  to  enoble.  Because  of  the  half  life 
time  that  he  lived,  a  moiety  of  mankind  are  now 
lonians." 

"Is  it  from  her  father,"  inquired  Revato,  "that 
the  lady  Prote  has  learned  to  reverence  kings  and 
kings  of  kings?" 

"Prote,"  replied  the  architect,  "speaks  for  her 
self  as  a  woman.  Possibly  you,  sir,  have  had  little 
experience  with  the  sex,  otherwise  you  would  know 
that  they  are  all  by  nature  barbarians,  delighting  in 
barbaric  display.  For  me,  I  like  better  the  small 
democracy  of  cultured  citizens.  Ten  are  enough 
of  them,  a  hundred  thousand  are  too  many.  Therein 
is  no  ugly  level,  for  ability  has  every  opportunity  to 
rise  in  preeminent  influence." 

"Thus,"  put  in  Prote,  "the  citizen  may  rise  to 
become  a  monarch,  and  the  school  days  of  democracy 
may  end  in  a  grander  life." 

"There  need  be  no  inferiority  on  the  part  of  any 
one,"  continued  Diomedes,  "for  the  vocations  in  a 
civilized  state  are  so  varied  that  each  may  excel  in 
his  own  peculiar  way." 

"Many  of  our  Ariya  clans  enjoyed  similar  liber 
ties,"  Revato  remarked,  "before  they  were  subju 
gated  by  the  kings  of  Kosala  and  Magadha.  It  is 
pitiful  to  reflect  how  one  tribe  after  another  has 
been  overwhelmed.  This  very  city  was  founded  as 
an  outpost  at  the  beginning  of  the  wars  against  the 
Vajjians,  the  LicchavTs,  of  Vesali.  The  Blessed  One 
himself  declared  that  so  long  as  they  dwelt  in  con 
cord,  held  frequent  public  assemblies,  preserved 
ancient  institutions,  revered  and  harkened  to  the 
elders,  respected  womanhood,  and  supported  the 
offices  of  religion — just  so  long  they  might  be  ex 
pected,  not  to  decline,  but  to  prosper.  And  it  was  so, 
for  they  retained  their  independence  long.  But  they 
were  conquered  at  last,  even  they.  This  should  be  a 
token  to  us  that  we  set  not  our  heart  upon  those  fran 
chises  which  must  be  defended  by  force  of  arms." 

"Likewise  have  been  swept  away  the  liberties  of 
Hellas,"  remarked  Diomedes  pensively. 

"After  all,"  Revato  added,  "the  equality  even  of 
our  free  clansmen  was  founded  on  oppression,  as  our 
life  is  unjust  still,  for  our  slaves  share  not  with  us." 

"Slaves?"  exclaimed  Diomedes.  "Do  you  call 
your  servants  slaves?  You  mild-mannered  Ariyas 
have  no  conception  what  slavery  means." 

"Then  did  your  free  clansmen  in  Yonaloka  hold 
slaves  also?" 

"Assuredly,  and  it  would  make  your  hair  stand 
on  end  if  you  knew  how  we  treated  them  and  do 
still.  That  is  a  necessity  to  keep  them  in  subjection. 
Without  a  multitude  of  people  whose  function  is 
simply  to  labor,  like  your  Suddas  and  outcastes,  how 
can  the  fittest  class  be  kept  in  leisure  and  means  for 
carving  beautiful  images,  delivering  noble  orations 
and  performing  illustrious  services  for  the  State?" 


[58] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


"Granted  that  these  are  worthy  ends,"  answered 
Revato,  "your  reasoning  might  be  sound.  Your 
error  seems  to  lie  in  confusing  with  good  works 
brilliant  ones,  which  are  a  fruit  and  a  seed  of  profane 
desire." 

"Tell  me,  however,"  asked  Diomedes,  "why  it  is 
that,  since  the  government  of  Asoko  has  been  so 
favorable  to  your  religion  and  its  principles,  you  are 
not  an  unswerving  advocate  of  monarchy?" 

"Because  a  particular  benefit  does  not  prove  that 
its  source  is  the  best.  Who  can  foresee  the  fate  of 
Piyadassi's  empire  in  the  long  run,  and  if  they 
could,  it  would  not  affect  the  principle." 

"I  have  heard  a  prediction,"  said  Prote,  "that 
Pataliputta  will  hereafter  be  in  danger  from  internal 
dissention,  from  flood  and  from  fire." 

"Buddho's  own  words,"  said  Revato,  "but  it  did 
not  require  his  wisdom  to  make  the  prophecy,  for 
internal  dissention  is  everywhere,  floods  are  to  be 
expected  where  men  build  on  lowlands  by  rivers,and 
some  villian  is  sure  to  set  a  fire  if  you  suggest  the  idea 
that  there  will  be  one.  To  perish,  is  the  safest 
prophecy  to  make  of  anything  that  exists,  except 
our  own  responsibility.  When  we  perceive  this 
latter  and  realize  that  it  is  a  question  for  all  time, 
the  difference  between  kings  and  republics  is  very 
small  to  us.  They  are  like  the  mud  pies  which  chil 
dren  make,  playing  on  the  ground." 

Diomedes  and  his  daughter  exchanged  glances. 
This  barbarian,  whom  they  had  brought  into  their 
house,  amused  them  by  his  merciless  reasoning, 
otherwise  they  would  have  had  none  of  him,  but 
there  were  times  when  he  seemed  to  shrivel  into  a 
mere  tiresome  fanatic. 

To  bring  in  a  new  train  of  thought,  Diomedes 
unwrapped  another  scroll,  which  he  said  might  suit 
Revato  better  than  the  former  one.  It  contained  a 
story  of  a  man  who  was  shipwrecked  on  an  island 
where  dwelt  a  beautiful  Yakkhini,  or  ogress,  named 
Calypso.  But  she,  unlike  the  Yakkhinis  of  Lanka, 
instead  of  eating  him,  treated  him  kindly  and  kept 
him  on  the  island  eight  years.  Finally,  when  he 
became  homesick  she  gave  him  materials  with  which 
to  build  a  raft  and  sail  away.  After  he  had  voyaged 
for  weeks,  a  great  storm  came  up,  destroying  the 
raft.  Still  he  clung  to  a  plank  for  three  days,  and  in 
the  end,  entrusting  himself  to  the  sea  without  any 
support,  was  cast  alive  upon  the  delectable  shore  of 
a  river. 

"I  like  this  much  better  than  the  other  sutta," 
Revato  adjudged.  "What  does  it  mean:  escape 
from  the  ocean  of  Sangsara  to  the  shore  of  Nib- 
bana?" 

"I  should  be  interested  to  hear  the  poet's  comment 
if  your  interpretation  were  suggested  to  him," 
Diomedes  replied. 

"Where  are  the  venerated  books  of  your  religion?" 
asked  Revato  presently.  "Are  you  not  at  liberty  to 
open  them  to  me?" 

"Our   religion   is    not   one   of   books,"    answered 


Diomedes.  "I  was  on  the  point,  however,  of  reading 
to  you  from  some  of  our  philosophers." 

"Pray  do  so  by  all  means,"  said  Revato. 

"With  the  stipulation  that  you  do  not  hold  me 
accountable  for  their  opinions.  Our  Hellenic  sages, 
like  yours,  have  made  free  to  think  for  themselves, 
which  they  have  done  with  great  variety.  In  some 
of  their  speculations  you  may  detect  a  likeness  to 
your  own." 

PHILOSOPHY 

In  the  first  scroll  from  which  Diomedes  then  read, 
was  declared  the  Heraclitean  doctrine  of  Flux.  All 
things  are  in  motion;  nothing  abides.  No  man 
passeth  twice  over  the  same  stream;  nay,  the  passer 
himself  is  without  constancy.  Life  and  death, 
waking  and  sleeping,  youth  and  old  age  are  the 
same,  for  the  latter  change  and  are  the  former  and 
the  former  change  back  to  the  latter.  Gods  are 
mortals,  men  are  immortals,  each  living  in  the 
others'  death  and  dying  in  the  others'  life. 

With  amazement  Revato  heard  thus  clearly 
enunciated  the  familiar  principle  of  Anicca,  Imper- 
manence.  As  Gotamo  applied  it  to  the  human 
personality,  it  was  Anatta,  "No  Self,"  the  lack  of 
any  enduring  Ego  wherein  we  might  find  refuge  from 
Dukkha,  Pain,  and  which  could  remain  unchanged 
in  our  passage  from  life  to  life.  (For,  under  the 
Dhamma  the  mortality  of  the  soul  was  no  bar  to 
resurrection  and  retribution.) 

Asked  Revato,  "Tell  me,  Diomedes,  what  has  been 
the  moral  influence  of  the  Impermanence  doctrine 
upon  your  people?  It  has  taught  mine  to  despise 
the  vanities  of  life." — 

"Which  goes  to  show,  Revato,  that  people  find 
in  a  doctrine  what  they  bring  to  it.  Among  us, 
opposite  minds  have  plucked  from  Herakleitos  what 
has  appealed  to  their  tastes.  But  most  richly  have 
his  teachings  borne  amiable  fruit.  We  lonians  are 
lovers  of  life — of  life's  vanities,  if  you  will  have  it 
so.  We  reason  that,  if  we  are  destined  to  last  only 
for  a  moment,  then  during  that  moment  let  us  be 
happy.  It  is  on  this  consideration  that  Aristippus 
of  Cyrene  and  that  Epicurus  the  Samian  base  their 
joyous  ethics,  which  most  of  my  countrymen 
approve." 

"How  do  they  evade  the  consequences  in  rebirths ? ' 

"They  are  not  concerned  with  rebirths.  These  are 
the  teaching  of  another  philosopher,  Pythagoras, 
who  preached  also  a  sad-faced  abstention  from  meats 
and  drinks. — But  listen  now  to  Parmemides  of 
Elea: 

"'Being  is.  It  is  without  beginning  and  indestruct 
ible;  it  is  universal,  existing  alone,  immovable  in  the 
hold  of  great  chains,  one  and  continuous  without 
end;  justice  does  not  slacken  her  fetters  to  permit 
generation  or  destruction,  but  holds  Being  firm. 
Only  in  name  do  things  arise  and  perish,  change 
their  position  and  vary  in  color.  Without  Being, 
thou  wilt  find  no  thinking.  It  is  not  subject  to  divi 
sion  nor  compounded  of  parts,  but  is  all  alike.  It 


[59] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


lies  the  same,  abiding  in  the  same  state,  on  the  same 
spot,  like  the  mass  of  a  rounded  sphere,  equally 
distant  from  the  centre  at  every  point.'  " 

"I  can  hardly  believe,"  exclaimed  Revato,  "that 
you  are  not  repeating  to  me  the  very  words  of  a 
Brahmin  hymn!  Who  would  have  imagined  that 
while  our  Ariya  munis  have  been  seeking  for  truth 
by  so  many  different  paths,  your  Yonaka  sages  have 
been  following  in  just  the  same  devious  ways?" 
He  proceeded  to  quote  from  the  Upanishads  and 
the  suttas  of  the  Vedanta,  passages  which  like 
wise  declared  this  Infinite,  Eternal  Being — Tad 
Ekam — To  EJ/S — "That  One" — One  with  the  World, 
One  with  Thyself — Tarn  Tvat  asi — "Thou  art 
That." 

"Now  what  do  you  think,"  inquired  Diomedes, 
"will  be  the  practical  consequence  of  this  creed?" 

"The  Brahmins  who  hold  it  are  licentious," 
Revato  answered. 

"Its  outcome  in  the  West  has  been  quite  the 
reverse,"  replied  Diomedes.  "They  who  adhere  to 
virtue,  like  your  Gotamo,  are  against  him  in  theory 
and  agree  with  your  Brahmins  in  their  faith  in  The 
One.  Such  were  Socrates  and  Plato,  of  whom  I  have 
yet  to  tell  you,  and  austere  Zeno,  the  Stoic.  While 
they  learned  of  Herakleitos  in  outward  things,  yet  in 
that  which  is  vital  they  are  to  be  counted  rather  as 
disciples  of  Parmenides. 

"Verily,  Diomedes,"  Revato  exclaimed,  "you 
Yonas  have  the  quality  of  making  your  effects  follow 
just  contrary  to  the  causes.  You  build  self-gratifi 
cation  upon  impermanence  of  soul  and  abstenance 
upon  its  stability,  whereas  Ariyas  in  each  case  do 
the  opposite." 

Forthwith  Diomedes  read  certain  passages  illumi 
nating  the  Stoic  philosophy.  Revato  saw  reflected 
therein  many  sides  of  Buddhist  wisdom — community 
of  animate  existence;  indifference  or  despite  toward 
one's  physical  environment;  compulsion  of  inward 
serenity. 

After  illustrating  the  Epicurean  position,  Dio 
medes  remarked,  "From  this,  I  presume,  you 
totally  dissent." 

"  By  no  means, "  said  Revato.  "  In  what  may  good 
be  measured  if  not  in  terms  of  happiness?  Thus, 
one  of  Piyadassi's  edicts  rightly  points  out  that 
penalties  should  be  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  its 
destruction.  By  happiness  I  mean  not  our  own 
of  the  moment,  but  that  of  all  beings  for  all  time, 
even  of  the  gods,  if  there  be  such,  who  take  pleasure 
in  watdiing  our  actions.  And  since  we  can  rarely 
tell  whether  this  or  that  thing  will  ultimately  prove 
best,  we  must  submit  ourselves  to  rules  which  gen 
erally  work  for  good,  such  as  the  Enlightened  One 
has  taught  us.  Then,  after  all,  even  your  Epicurus 
recognizes  that  happiness  is  not  a  positive  quality 
but  consists  in  the  removal  of  its  opposite,  pain, 
craving.  He  would  get  rid  of  craving  by  gratifying 
it,  Buddho  by  suppressing  it;  in  either  case  the  final 
goal  is  not  happiness  but  peace.  This,  however,  is 
beyond  our  comprehension. 


"  'When,  by  consummate  saving,  the  miry  slough  is  crossed, 
When  crushed  are  thorns  of  craving  and  all  delusions  lost, 
Would  then,  or  pain  or  pleasure  contest  that  sure  Release, 
They  fail  in  equal  measure,  for  nought  prevails  but  Peace.'  " 

"You  allay  your  craving  for  argument  by  Epi 
curus'  plan,  gratification,  rather  than  by  Buddho's, 
suppression,"  interjected  Prote,  "and  the  result  is 
not  always  peace  to  your  listeners.  Philosophy  is 
only  a  part  of  life,  which  it  serves  to  round  out,  and 
it  must  not  be  given  such  prominence  as  to  destroy 
the  symmetry  of  the  whole. " 

FOOD 

A  servant,  now  entering  the  room,  made  some 
announcement  in  Yonaka  to  his  master,  who  said  to 
Revato : 

"The  hour  has  arrived  for  applying  the  precepts 
of  Epicurus.  I  trust  you  will  not  decline.  And 
Prote,  you  may  dine  with  us  on  condition  of  a 
solemn  vow  to  Artemis  that  you  do  not  divulge 
the  fact  if  ever  again  we  find  our  way  to  Athens." 

In  a  room  across  the  court  was  prepared  a  long 
table  with  wide  cushioned  couches  on  which  the 
diners  might  loll  as  they  ate  and  be  saved  from  a 
fall  if  indulgence  overcame  them.  Prote,  however, 
sat  upright  in  a  chair  with  her  feet  on  a  padapitha, 
a  foot-stool.  The  dining-room  furniture  was 
strange  to  Revato.  He  had  been  used  to  broad, 
square  benches  on  which  the  eaters  squatted  to  take 
their  food  from  a  few  dishes  on  individual  cross- 
legged  stools.  Now  he  became  painfully  embarrassed, 
fearful  of  doing  the  wrong  thing. 

Before  their  beginning  upon  the  meal,  slaves 
brought  in  silver  basins  of  perfumed  water  with 
towels,  that  the  diners  might  perform  their  ablutions. 

Upon  the  table  were  laid  many  dishes  of  food, 
some  recognizable  in  kind  but  all  served  in  un 
familiar  manner.  The  place  of  honor  in  the  menu 
was  filled  by  the  royal  bird  of  the  Moriya  dynasty. 
Revato  had  heard  from  the  back  of  the  house  a 
peacock's  terrified  shrieks,  which  were  now  accounted 
for. 

"In  eating  this  bird  we  shall  perform  a  three-fold 
duty,"  said  Diomedes;  "we  shall  agreeably  nourish 
ourselves,  we  shall  win  favor  from  the  Queen  Goddess 
Hera,  to  whom  her  favorite  bird  of  the  Argos-eyed 
tail  is  offered,  and  we  shall  honor  Piyadassi,  the 
Moriya." 

"Honor  him  thus!"  exclaimed  Revato. 

Evidently  the  law  of  the  city  weighed  no  more 
with  Diomedes  than  did  Asoko's  wishes.  Since 
the  fowl  had  been  slain  by  an  unbeliever,  Revato 
was  not  debarred  by  his  religion  from  eating  it. 
The  Blessed  One  himself  had  come  to  his  death 
by  an  indigestible  meal  of  bacon,  and  slaughter 
houses  served  by  Candala  outcastes  were  an  ortho 
dox  institution  in  spite  of  Piyadassi's  restrictions. 
But  Revato  had  no  taste  for  the  peacock  nor  for  the 
dishes  of  antelope's  flesh  and  portions  of  other 
creatures  that  had  been  alive.  So  he  fared  as  best 
he  might  on  herbs  and  cakes  and  tree  dainties, 


[60] 


THE          LAYMAN         REVATO 


humorously  explaining  to  his  host  that  he  was  an 
exploiter  of  fruit  food  only. 

His  persistent  refusals  of  the  meat  furnished 
ample  subject  of  conversation  throughout  the  meal. 
Diomedes  remarked  that  Pythagoras  had  forbidden 
beans  as  well  as  meat.  Revato  told  how  Buddho  had 
permitted  beans  but  had  ruled  out  onions  because 
they  had  caused  a  monk,  after  partaking  of  them, 
considerately  to  hold  aloof  from  his  brethren  during 
the  preaching  of  the  Dhamma. 

Never  did  Revato  feel  more  at  a  disadvantage 
than  in  attempting  to  justify  the  distinction  between 
killing  to  eat  and  eating  that  which  has  been  killed. 
"They  say  that  when  a  cow  has  been  slain  and 
dressed,  she  is  no  longer  cow  but  meat,"  Revato 
contended,  as  the  best  argument  he  could  remember. 

The  compromising  attitude  of  Revato's  religion 
toward  meats  did  not  extend  to  intoxicating  drinks, 
the  use  of  which  he  had  been  brought  up  to  regard 
as  in  quite  another  category,  positively,  not  con 
tingently,  evil.  He  told  his  hosts  a  story  of  how  the 
Elder  Sagato,  having  freely  indulged,  helpless,  and 
hiccoughing  nonsense,  was  carried  by  the  brethren 
to  the  cloister  park,  where  he  lay  on  the  ground 
with  his  feet  disrespectfully  toward  Buddho. 

"Well  now,  Brethren,"  said  the  Master,  "is  it 
proper  to  drink  that  which,  when  drunken  steals 
away  a  man's  senses?"  "It  is  improper,  Sir,"  said 
they,  and  he  declared  that  the  drinking  of  liquor 
must  constitute  a  misdemeanor. 

By  this  time,  the  substantial  part  of  the  meal 
being  over,  servants  removed  the  tables  and  brought 
in  a  tall  pitcher  of  wine  with  goblets.  Among  them 
was  a  great  wrought  cup  all  of  silver,  but  the  lips 
were  worked  with  gold.  Filling  this,  Diomedes 
dashed  a  part  of  it  on  the  floor,  exclaiming,  "To 
Pallas  Athene,"  then  drank  a  swallow  and  handed 
it  to  his  guest. 


Boldly  as  Revato  had  refused  the  meat,  he  found 
the  present  situation  embarrasing,  but  a  happy 
solution  for  the  dilemma  occurred  to  him  and  he 
passed  the  cup  on  to  Prote.  Yet  this  only  post 
poned  the  difficulty,  for,  after  sipping,  she  returned 
the  flagon  to  him. 

"It  will  make  you  glad  and  forgetful,"  she  said. 

"Temperance,"  supplemented  Diomedes  more 
prosaically,  "is  intended  to  preserve  our  appetite  for 
occasions,  such  as  this,  for  its  most  happy  indul 
gence." 

Perhaps  Revato's  unfamiliarity  with  the  tempta 
tion  may  condone  his  yielding.  At  all  events, 
he  drank;  and  having  done  so,  it  was  an  easier 
matter  to  accept  the  special  goblet  that  was  rilled  for 
him  after  that  of  the  libation.  There  was  nothing 
distasteful  to  him  in  the  wine,  as  there  had  been  in 
the  meat.  When  later  he  pondered  over  himself, 
he  felt  like  the  mendicant  who  returned  a  straw  yet 
purloined  gold.  But  now  the  liquor,  light  and 
frugal  as  it  was,  cheered  him  and  put  him  in  a  humor 
suited  to  the  occasion. 

The  supper  was  concluded  with  a  desert  con 
sisting  of  dainties  imported  from  Yonaloka — 
dried  figs,  olives  and  nuts.  When  satiety  had  taken 
away  the  desire  of  eating  and  drinking,  Prote  sang 
to  her  lute  and  even  ventured  to  execute  a  dance, 
sedately  however  as  compared  with  the  professional 
dancing  girls  of  Magadha. 

It  was  now  quite  dark  outside  and  Revato  spoke 
of  taking  leave  but  Diomedes  objected: 

"It  would  dishonor  our  Greek  wisdom  were  I  to 
let  you  go  after  revealing  it  to  you  so  imcompletely. 
There  is  better  yet  to  come.  When  we  have  spent 
the  evening  together  you  will  depart  with  a  more 
perfect  insight  of  our  philosophy." 

Compliance  was  no  hardship,  and  Revato  stayed. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  PLANE  TREE  AND  THE  BODHI  TREE 


BEAUTY 

The  story  which  Diomedes  began  after  supper, 
from  a  freshly-unrolled  book,  was  no  dark  legend 
of  gods  and  heroes,  but  an  account  of  two  friends, 
who  strolled  from  the  restless  town  out  among 
bright  fields  to  the  side  of  a  brook  where  nymphs 
and  dryads  dwelt  in  fancy.  There  they  seated 
themselves  in  the  umbrage  of  a  fronded  tree  called 
the  Plane  tree. 

Not  thus  did  Bodhisatto,  fainting  in  body  and 
riven  with  striving,  approach  the  river  Neranjara 
and  sink  beneath  the  Assattha  tree — the  Pipphala, 
which  thence  is  called  the  Bodhi,  the  Tree  of  Wisdom, 
but  who  could  tell  whether  the  Plane  tree  might  not 
after  all  be  the  truer  Tree  of  Wisdom? 


"Beloved  Pan,  and  all  ye  other  gods  who  haunt 
this  place,  give  me  beauty  in  the  inward  soul;  and 
may  the  outward  and  inward  man  be  at  one.  May 
I  reckon  the  wise  to  be  wealthy,  and  may  I  have 
such  a  quantity  of  gold  as  only  the  temperate  can 
carry.  Anything  more?  That  prayer,  I  think,  is 
enough  for  me." 

Thus  spake  Socrates  as  he  sat  by  Phaedrus.  This 
shrewd  self-possession,  this  calculating  humility, 
was  not  in  the  spirit  of  Buddho,  but  it  might  have 
its  own  valuable  lesson  to  teach.  And  the  lesson 
that  the  Ionian  taught  to  his  friend  was  this:  How 
the  soul  may  be  winged  by  the  beauties  of  this 
world  and  soar  to  a  beautiful  world  on  high. 


[6, 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


He  showed  that,  throughout  successive  births  as 
beasts  and  man,  we  dwell  on  earth  or  in  heaven  or  in 
hell,  as  the  case  may  be.  But  the  spirit  of  him  who 
has  never  seen  the  Truth  will  not  pass  into  the 
human  form,  for  we  must  be  capable  of  recollecting 
"those  things  which  our  soul  once  saw  when  in 
company  with  God — when  looking  down  from  above 
on  that  which  we  now  call  being  and  upward  toward 
the  True  Being.  And  therefore,  the  mind  of  the 
philosopher  alone  has  wings;  and  this  is  just,  for  he 
is  always,  according  to  the  measure  of  his  abilities, 
clinging  in  recollection  to  those  things  in  which  God 
abides,  and  beholding  which  He  is  what  He  is.  And 
he  who  employs  aright  these  memories  is  ever  being 
initiated  into  perfect  mysteries  and  alone  becomes 
truly  perfect.  But,  as  he  forgets  earthly  interests 
and  is  rapt  in  the  Divine,  the  vulgar  deem  him  mad 
and  rebuke  him;  they  do  not  see  that  he  is  inspired." 

"Are  you  weary  of  Hellenic  wisdom,  Revato,  or 
have  you  patience  still  to  listen?" 

"My  patience  to  listen,  Diomedes,  is  as  enduring 
as  yours  to  instruct." 

"Then  harken  awhile  longer  to  this,  the  greatest 
of  all  philosophers.  Had  he  been  born  in  Ariya  Land, 
the  people  would  have  made  him  a  god.  They 
would  have  built  to  him  temples  hideous  with 
painted  wooden  images.  It  is  thus  I  am  giving  them 
a  graven  form  worthy  of  worship  in  making  a  god  of 
your  Buddho." 

"Why  then  do  you  not  manufacture  of  your  own 
Enlightened  One  a  new  god  in  Yonaloka?  It 
appears  that  they  are  as  easy  to  make  there  as 
among  the  Brahmins." 

"No  Helene  needs  an  image  in  order  to  be  a  god," 
rejoined  Diomedes.  "He  comes  of  an  Olympic  race. 
As  we  are  divine,  so  also  are  our  gods  human;  they 
are  our  own  flesh  and  blood;  our  blessed  ancestors, 
vanished,  yet  ever  close  beside  us  with  kindly 
interest  in  our  affairs.  Do  not  try  to  understand 
this,  for  you  cannot." 

"Madness,"  went  on  this  philosopher,  "is  imputed  to  him  who, 
when  he  sees  the  beauty  of  earth,  is  transported  with  the  recollec 
tion  of  the  true  Beauty;  he  would  like  to  fly  far  away,  but  he 
cannot;  he  is  a  like  a  bird  fluttering  and  looking  upward  and 
careless  of  the  world  below,  and  he  is  therefore  esteemed  mad. 
Few  there  are  who  remember  the  things  of  the  other  world  and 
they,  when  they  behold  any  image  of  that  world,  are  rapt  in 
amazement.  For  there  is  no  light  in  the  earthly  copies  of  justice 
or  temperance  or  any  of  the  higher  qualities  which  are  precious  to 
souls:  They  are  seen  but  through  a  glass  dimly. 

"But  Beauty  we  saw  there  shining  in  company  with  the 
celestial  forms;  and  coming  to  earth,  we  find  her  here  too,  shining 
in  clearness  through  the  aperture  of  sense.  For  sight  is  the  keen 
est  of  our  bodily  senses;  though  not  by  that  is  Wisdom  seen,  for 
her  loveliness  would  have  been  transporting  if  there  had  been  a 
visible  image  of  her,  and  this  is  true  of  the  loveliness  of  the  other 
ideas  as  well.  But  Beauty  only  has  this  portion,  that  she  is  at  once 
the  loveliest  and  also  the  most  apparent.  Now  he  who  has  not 
been  initiated,  or  who  has  become  corrupted,  is  not  easily  carried 
out  of  this  world  to  the  sight  of  absolute  Beauty  in  the  other;  he 
looks  at  that  which  has  the  name  of  Beauty  in  this  world,  and 
instead  of  being  awed  at  the  sight  of  her,  like  a  brutish  beast  he 
rushes  on  to  enjoy  and  beget.  But  he  whose  initiation  is  recent 
and  who  has  been  the  spectator  of  many  glories  in  the  other 
world  is  amazed  when  he  sees  anyone  having  a  godlike  face  or 


form,  which  is  the  expression  or  imitation  of  divine  Beauty;  and 
at  first  a  shudder  runs  through  him  and  some  'misgiving'  of  a  form 
er  world  steals  over  him;  then,  as  he  gazes,  the  shudder  passes 
into  an  ardour  whereby  he  groweth  his  wings. " 

"What  can  this  beautiful  world  be  but  Nibbana?" 
exclaimed  Revato.  "Your  muni  speaks  as  do  those 
who  have  attained  it.  Truly,  as  I  affirm,  we 
must  withdraw  our  eyes  from  sensuous  beauty  and 
fix  them  upon  the  beauty  of  Truth  as  perceived  in 
our  hearts.  Then  let  men  call  us  mad. — It  is  said 
that  only  a  Buddho  remembers  his  past  lives.  And 
can  it  be  that  from  Nibbana  we  proceeded  as  we 
aspire  to  return  into  it?  Who  knows? — But  I 
believe  with  all  my  heart  that  we  shall  rise  to  the 
beauty  of  that  world  the  most  eagerly  as  we  behold 
it  with  affection  in  the  Blessed  One  himself." 

"You  wrest  Socrates'  meaning  to  conform  it  with 
your  own  notions,"  Diomedes  rejoined.  "He  would 
not  have  us  look  for  the  Blessed  City  by  blinding 
ourselves  to  earthly  beauty,  but  he  teaches  us  rather 
to  dwell  on  all  that  is  lovely  in  the  outward  life, 
seeing  in  it  a  shadow  of  the  perfect  spiritual  world. 
Error  consists  in  turning  our  eyes  either  wholly 
inward  or  wholly  outward.  Our  life  is  here  com 
pared  with  a  chariot  whereunto  are  harnessed  Sense 
and  Spirit  while  the  reins  are  in  the  hands  of  Reason 
to  hold  his  team  at  an  even  pace." 

"He  has  somewhere  said,"  interposed  Prote, 
"that  beauty  and  goodness  are  the  same  thing  and 
that  neither  one  amounts  to  anything  apart  from  its 
object.  What  is  beneficial  is  good  to  whomsoever 
it  is  beneficial,  and  the  beautiful  must  be  considered 
with  regard  to  the  useful." 

COURAGE 

Another  of  Plato's  suttas  Diomedes  opened  to 
Revato.  It  was  Laches,  in  which  Socrates  dis 
courses  with  his  friend  of  that  name,  and  with 
Nicias,  on  Courage.  Here  were  pointed  out  divers 
kinds  of  intrepidity.  "For  we  must  rank  as  coura 
geous  those  not  only  who  are  such  in  war,  but  those 
who  in  disease,  in  poverty,  or  again  in  politics  are 
courageous;  and  not  only  who  are  courageous 
against  pain  and  fear,  but  mighty  to  contend  against 
desires  and  pleasures." 

"Truly,"  remarked  Revato,  "this  Socrates  would 
have  agreed  with  Bhagava  when  he  said: 

"  'Though,  vanquishing  a  million  men,  in  battle  one  engages, 
Whoso  himself  can  overcome,  a  grander  conflict  wages.'  " 

"Did  you  suppose,  Revato,"  Diomedes  answered, 
"that  any  noble  thought  could  exist  unknown  to 
Hellas?  Hearken  to  this  hymn  addressed  to  Ares 
and  attributed  to  our  greatest  of  poets: 

"  'Gleam  with  mild  glow  on  my  pathway,  kindling  my  warlike 

endeavor — 

Strong  to  encounter  my  cowardly  temper,  my  petulant  passion, 
Curbing  the  force  of  mine  anger,  which  spurs  me  to  mix  in  the 

battle. 
Hearten  me,  Blest  One,  to  linger,  harmless,  unpained,  in  my  peace 


Deaf  to  the  enerm 


shout,  far  from  the  fates  of  destruction.' 


[62] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


"That  indeed,"  observed  Revato,  "is  a  type  of 
nobility  with  which  I  had  little  credited  your 
countrymen." 

"Were  it  the  prevailing  type,"  Diomedes  retorted, 
"my  countrymen  could  never  had  attained  their 
exalted  state,  or  having  reached  it,  they  would 
quickly  be  enslaved  by  the  barbarians." 

As  they  read  further  in  the  book,  they  came  to  a 
definition  of  courage  by  Nicias.  He  maintained 
that  courage  is  dependent  upon  a  knowledge  of  the 
grounds  of  hope  and  fear,  and  hence  a  brute,  be  it  a 
pig  or  a  lion,  cannot  show  courage,  but  only  fearless 
ness  or  rashness." 

"  Good !  good ! "  exclaimed  Revato.  "  Most  of  those 
acts  of  men  which  are  admired  as  heroic  possess  only 
this  quality  of  brute  recklessness.  There  is  a  courage 
of  assured  safety,  such  as  Arahats  possess.  Thus 
Buddho's  monks  whose  passions  were  at  rest  were 
calm  before  the  assassin  Migalandiko.  There  is  a 
courage  which  is  a  deliberate  exposure  of  oneself 
to  privation,  peril,  pain  or  scorn,  after  a  prudent 
weighing  of  these  in  the  balance  against  certain 
results.  This  was  the  courage  which  Buddho  com 
mended.  But  what  people  generally  have  in  mind 
when  they  speak  of  courage  is  a  mad  venturesome- 
ness  which  is  possible  only  by  blinding  one's  eyes  to 
consequences.  Since  we  should  always  act  with  an 
outlook  to  eventualities,  such  courage  is  inherently 
evil.  Readiness  to  face  death,  as  men  go  into  battle, 
ignoring  what  comes  after  death,  is  a  fearful  exhibi 
tion  of  this  heroism.  Why,  even  the  damned  in 
Purgatory  fear  death,  little  as  it  can  aggravate  their 
condition!  But  fatuous  men  so  delude  themselves 
as  to  count  the  cheers  or  jeers  of  their  fellows,  or  the 
lust  for  revenge  and  loot,  or  the  mere  joy  of  killing, 
more  important  than  millions  of  ages  in  the  hells.  In 
many  ways  this  course  leads  to  immeasurable  cruelty 
and  misery  which  would  be  escaped  if  cowardice  pre 
vailed.  Not  only  those  who  go  to  war,  but  those  of 
us  who  remain  behind  pass  our  lives  in  a  state  of 
foolhardiness,  by  reason  of  that  animal  vivacity 
which  is  the  veil  of  Maya  before  our  eyes.  Reason 
and  virtue  demand  that  we  govern  our  lives  by  the 
calmest  judgment;  hence  I  laud  what  men  call 
cowardice." 

"Faint  not,  fool,  in  thy  strong  heart,"  interjected 
Prote  from  some  one  of  her  sources  of  songs,  but  in  a 
tone  which  did  not  promote  Revato's  self-compla 
cency. 

"Lady,"  he  managed  to  retort,  "you  are  like  the 
Queen  of  Kosala  who  was  glad  to  go  and  see  an  army 
clad  in  armor  standing  on  auspicious  ground  and  to 
drink  the  water  in  which  swords  were  washed." 

WHAT  THE  GREEKS  ALSO  KNEW 

Finally  Diomedes  went  on  to  read  how  this  same 
Socrates  was  condemned  to  death  by  vote  of  his 
fellow-citizens  for  corrupting  their  youth,  because 
he  had  been  searching  into  things  of  Heaven  and 
the  under  world,  doubting  the  gods  in  which  the 
city  believed  and  making  the  worse  appear  the 

[63 


better  reason.  In  the  prison,  as  his  hour  for  execu 
tion  approached,  he  gathered  about  him  a  little 
group  of  friends  to  counsel  and  comfort  them,  as 
did  the  dying  Buddho  among  his  disciples.  "All  of 
us  who  were  present,"  said  the  Greek  who  bears 
record,  "were  affected  in  much  the  same  manner,  at 
one  time  laughing,  at  another  time  weeping." 

Alike  the  two  Enlightened  ones  urged  the  mourn 
ers  to  seize  this  last  opportunity  for  making  known 
their  perplexities:  "If  Simmias  here,  or  anyone 
else,  has  anything  to  say,  it  were  well  for  him  not 
to  be  silent;  for  I  know  not  to  what  other  oppor 
tunity  beyond  the  present  anyone  can  defer  it,  who 
wishes  either  to  speak  or  to  hear  about  these  things." 
So  too  the  Bhavaga:  "It  may  be  that  there  is  some 
doubt  or  misgiving  in  the  mind  of  some  brother  as 
to  the  Buddho,  or  the  Truth  or  the  Path  or  the  Way. 
Enquire,  brethren,  freely.  Do  not  have  to  reproach 
yourselves  afterward  with  the  thought:  'Our  teacher 
was  face  to  face  with  us  and  we  could  not  bring  our 
selves  to  enquire  of  the  Blessed  One  when  we  were 
face  to  face  with  him.'  " 

Devoid  of  apprehension  for  himself,  the  man 
about  to  die,  in  either  case,  discoursed  with  his 
friends  by  the  same  leisurely,  dialectic  method, 
a  monologue  of  leading  questions  periodically  broken 
for  the  respectful  assent  "Certainly  Socrates," 
"Even  so,  Lord." 

This  Greek  led  his  friends  into  that  "philosophy 
which  is  the  highest  music,"  and  "hatred  of  which 
springs  from  the  same  source  as  hatred  of  mankind." 
He  told  them  that  the  soul  reasons  best  when  in 
contact  with  no  disturbing  thing — hearing  or  sight 
or  pain  or  pleasure  of  any  kind. 

"The  lovers  of  wisdom  know  that  philosophy,  receiving  their 
soul  plainly  bound  and  glued  to  the  body,  and  compelled  to  view 
things  through  this,  as  through  a  prison,  and  not  directly  by 
herself,  and  sunk  in  utter  ignorance,  and  perceiving  too,  the 
strength  of  that  prison  that  it  arises  from  desire,  so  that  he  who  is 
bound  as  much  as  possible  assists  in  binding  himself — I  say  then 
the  lovers  of  wisdom  know  that  philosophy,  receiving  their  soul 
in  this  state,  gently  exhorts  it  and  endeavors  to  free  it,  by  show 
ing  that  the  view  of  things  by  means  of  the  eyes  is  full  of  decep 
tion,  as  also  that  through  the  ears  and  the  other  senses;  persuad 
ing  an  abandonment  of  these  so  far  as  it  is  not  absolutely  to  lose 
them,  and  advising  the  soul  to  be  collected  and  concentrated 
within  herself.  .  .  .  She  abstains  as  much  as  possible  from 
pleasures  and  desires,  griefs  and  fears,  considering  that  when 
anyone  is  exceedingly  delighted  or  alarmed,  grieved  or  influ 
enced  by  desire,  he  does  not  merely  suffer  such  evil  from  these 
things  as  one  might  suppose,  such  as  either  being  sick  or  wasting 
his  property  through  indulging  his  desires;  but  that  which  is  the 
greatest  evil,  and  worst  of  all,  this  he  suffers,  and  is  not  conscious 
of  it." 

How  like  a  sutta  from  the  Baskets  of  his  own  Law 
this  address  sounded  to  Revato!  Little  had  he 
thought  to  hear  from  the  lips  of  a  Yonaka  so  clear  an 
admission  of  the  evil  resident  in  desire  and  in  sen 
suous  life. 

Prote,  whose  pretty  eyelids  had  been  drooping 
during  the  long  locutions  that  had  preceded,  was 
roused  by  this  last  to  pugnacity. 

"Father,"  she  exclaimed,  "have  you  not  too 
much  patriotism  to  mislead  Revato  with  such 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


travesties  of  our  Ionian  ideas?  He  will  think  that 
our  philosophers  are  as  morose  as  his  own.  No, 
Revato,  our  truest  philosopher  was  she  who  taught 
that  according  to  the  intensity  of  our  feelings,  we 
live." 

"You  Yonakas,  who  have  outdistanced  the  rest 
of  the  world  in  refinements  of  life,"  said  Revato, 
"have  a  great  external  show  of  joy,  and  it  may  be 
that  you  are  able  to  feel  pleasure  more  keenly  than 
we,  but  I  venture  to  say  that,  were  the  whole  truth 
known,  there  would  be  found  lurking  under  those 
pleasures  thorns  of  anguish  sharper  than  any  which 
we  have  to  endure." 

"That  may  be  true, "  replied  Prote,  " but  is  not  the 
ability  to  experience  such  happiness — are  not  the 
multifold  forms  of  happiness  which  our  culture  opens 
to  us  beyond  those  which  the  barbarian  knows — 
more  than  a  compensation  for  the  attendant  pains?" 

"Frankly,  I  think  not,"  said  Revato.  "Of  those 
joys  and  miseries  which  are  entailed  in  the  develop 
ment  of  our  lives,  the  suffering  builds  up  more 
rapidly.  This  is  the  universal  law." 

On  this  question,  as  they  had  before  proved, 
Prote's  and  Revato's  opinions  were  irreconcilable. 
A  judgment  was  asked  of  Diomedes. 

"Discretion  lies  in  moderation,"  he  affirmed. 

"Precisely,"  said  Revato.  "There  I  agree  with 
you.  Only  our  variance  in  defining  the  word  'mod 
eration'  would  leave  us  far  apart." 

"More  of  this  anon,"  said  Diomedes,  "but  first 
shall  we  read  more  of  the  Phaedo? — 

"  'Each  pleasure  and  pain  nails  the  soul  to  the 
body  and  fastens  it  to  it,  and  causes  it  to  become 
corporeal,  deeming  these  things  to  be  true  whatever 
the  body  asserts  to  be  so.  It  cannot  pass  into  Hades 
in  a  pure  state,  but  must  depart  polluted  by  the  body, 
and  so  quickly  falls  again  into  another  body,  and 
grows  up  as  if  it  were  sown,  and  consequently  is 
deprived  of  all  association  with  that  which  is  Divine 
and  pure  and  uniform.'  " 

"Sown  like  a  seed!"  exclaimed  Revato.  "That  is 
right.  That  explains  how  we  pass  from  one  birth  to 
another.  Kamma  is  the  force  in  the  seed  by  which  it 
puts  forth  a  new  body." 

Perhaps  in  all  that  was  read,  Revato  most  ad 
mired  the  Socratic  qualification:  "To  affirm  posi 
tively,  indeed,  that  these  things  are  exactly  as  I  have 
described,  does  not  become  a  man  of  sense." 

At  Cebes'  remark  upon  the  alarm  of  one  who 
should  die  in  doubt  whether  his  soul,  in  its  disunion 
with  the  body,  might  not  entirely  perish,  Revato  was 
startled  by  the  opposition  of  such  a  fear  to  that  which 
harassed  himself.  While  he,  in  common  with  his 
countrymen,  was  oppressed  by  the  stupendous 
difficulty  of  escaping  from  existences,  these  Western 
ers  looked  upon  such  release  as  a  calamity,  and  Cebes 
even  with  a  naive  disregard  of  preparedness  for 
hazards. 

Much  akin  to  the  Yonaka  muni  as  he  felt  himself  in 
many  particulars,  Revato,  with  his  Buddhist  pre 
occupations,  was  conscious  of  an  impassible  gulf  be 


tween  their  views  of  the  soul's  nature.  It  was  upon 
the  dissolution  of  the  soul,  or  mind,  into  elements 
at  death,  a  theory  earnestly  combatted  by  Socrates, 
that  Buddho  based  his  religion.  Yet  he  remained 
not  in  the  abyss  of  negation  from  which  Socrates 
raised  the  skeptic  Simmias,  but  by  the  affirmation 
of  Kamma  he  established  the  law  of  futurity  and 
retribution  as  firm  as  adamant. 

"The  soul,"  said  Socrates,  "goes  to  Hades  possess 
ing  nothing  but  its  discipline  and  education."  This, 
at  least,  was  the  essence  of  Buddho's  doctrine,  it 
being  explained  that  the  soul  which  goes  to  Hades 
consists  of  naught  else  but  that  discipline  and  edu 
cation.  There  it  is  sown  as  a  seed  to  raise  unto  itself 
a  new  body  and  mind.  That  mind,  by  the  Buddhist 
theory  (when  consistently  maintained)  will  possess 
no  historical  memory,  but  it  may  be  said  to  have  as 
a  moral  memory,  the  memory  of  conscience,  for  it 
will  read  its  past  written  in  its  present  condition. 
Indeed,  we  may  presume  that  the  identity  of  char 
acter  will  restore  the  soul  in  duplicate  of  the  old  one, 
virtually  the  same,  and  linked  with  former  lives 
almost  as  closely  as  our  to-days  are  linked  with  our 
hazy  yesterdays.  Thus,  from  the  voice  of  denial 
echoes  a  great  affirmation. 

THE  TEACHER  OF  ALASANDO 

The  hour  was  now  so  late  that  Revato  again 
moved  to  depart,  but  Diomedes  detained  him  still, 
saying: 

"I  fear  that  my  promise  has  ill  been  kept  and  that 
I  have  been  reading  to  you  those  things  which  I 
knew  would  appeal  to  your  interest,  rather  than 
those  which  best  illuminate  our  Hellenic  life  and 
which  you  most  need.  But  you  shall  not  depart 
without  carrying  away  a  few  thoughts  from  our 
most  sensible  of  teachers,  the  preceptor  of  Alex 
ander." 

"We  are  in  search  of  something  that  is  concrete  and  practical," 
read  Diomedes,  "rather  than  of  abstract  Ideas.  The  physician's 
investigation  concerns  not  health  in  general,  but  of  this  or  that 
particular  man. 

"The  man  who  is  truly  noble  and  sensible  does  what  is  noblest 
under  the  circumstances,  as  a  good  cobbler  makes  the  best  shoe 
he  can  out  of  the  leather  that  has  been  given  him. 

"The  elements  of  our  conduct  are  spoiled  either  by  excess  or 
defect.  In  anger,  for  example,  we  are  wrong  if  the  anger  be 
either  too  violent  or  too  slack,  but  right  if  it  be  a  happy  medium. 
Thus  it  is  with  fear,  confidence,  lust,  compassion,  pleasure  and 
pain. " 

"A  small  deflection  from  the  right  is  not  blameworthy,  but 
only  a  considerable  one,  for  it  is  hard  to  judge  precisely  where 
the  mean  lies. 

"A  man  may  be  praiseworthy  for  rejecting  the  results  of  logic 
when  he  finds  them  objectionable. 

"The  man  of  Perfected  Self  Mastery  delights  not  in  vicious 
things;  but  those  which  conduce  to  health  and  good  condition, 
being  also  pleasant,  he  will  moderately  grasp,  and  also  such 
other  pleasant  things  as  are  not  injurious. 

"All  men  rightfully  grasp  at  pleasure,  since  all  aim  at  life,  and 
life  is  working  and  each  works  with  the  things  he  likes  best — the 
musician  with  melodies,  the  student  at  speculations,  etc.  And 
pleasure  perfects  the  act  of  working,  and  so  life,  after  which  men 
grasp. 

"For  noble  things,  even  the  desires  themselves  are  praise 
worthy,  and  for  ignoble  things  blameworthy. 


[64] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"Higher  than  pleasure,  though  involving  it,  is  Happiness. 
This,  at  its  best,  is  a  continuous,  enduring,  leisurely,  detached, 
contemplative,  god-like  state.  To  possess  it  requires  sufficient 
worldly  goods  for  personal  well-being,  but  no  excess.  It  is  not 
for  animals  nor  slaves,  but  for  sages." 

Among  these  prudential,  cultural,  life-exalting 
counsels  of  Alasando's  tutor,  were  sentences  which 
caused  Revato's  spirits  to  rise  like  a  captive  bird, 
forgetting  the  cage  that  limited  its  flight;  with  a  will 
almost  that  would  have  annihilated  that  cage  by 
ignoring  its  existence. 

How  glorious  is  freedom  from  the  petty  restraints 
of  unyielding  law!  from  the  purposeless  wasting  of 
a  lifetime  within  its  prison!  How  grand  to  be  at 
liberty  for  expedient  action,  shaping  one's  conduct 
for  greatest  usefulness,  most  perfect  results — What 
could  be  a  better  rule  of  life?  The  good  in  such 
achievements  is  definite,  positive;  they  are  the  most 
tangible  criterion  of  virtue.  Should  not  those 
courses  of  action  which  lead  to  them  be  followed 
and  those  courses  of  action,  or  halting  places  of 
inaction,  which  are  aloof  from  them  be  shunned? 
If  theory  clash  with  practice,  so  much  the  worse  for 
theory.  If  logic  work  harm,  let  logic  go. 

So  Revato  told  himself.  He  also  reasoned: 
"These  Yavanas,  whether  they  be  right  or  wrong, 
are  not  ignorant  of  any  side  of  any  question.  Is  not 
every  idea  known  to  the  wise  men  of  Jambudipa 
found  somewhere  in  the  teachings  of  their  phi 
losophers?  Ascetic  morality  has  been  repudiated  in 
Yonaloka  because  it  has  been  tried  and  found 
wanting." 

It  is  true  that  a  misgiving  lurked  in  Revato's 
mind  due  to  the  affirmation  of  Aristoteles  that, 
after  all,  justice  is  not  one  of  those  questions  which 
admit  of  compromise.  Injustice  being  the  gravamen 
of  the  Layman's  difficulties,  he  could  not  rid  himself 
of  the  lurking  consciousness  that  his  attempt  to 
destroy  them  was  merely  covering  them  up.  Still, 
he  reflected,  the  Yonaka  moralist  would  probably 
have  refused  to  class  his  obliquities  with  things 
really  unjust  or  dishonorable  and  would  have  swept 
them  aside  as  trifles  which  ought  not  to  be  allowed 
to  hinder  a  symmetrical  development  of  character, 
a  successful  persistency  in  career. 

In  the  few  moments  remaining  before  his  pro 
tracted  departure,  Revato  discussed  with  Diomedes 
the  opinions  of  this  last  great  teacher.  He  noticed 
in  them  the  same  recognition  of  the  inter-relation  of 
desire,  pleasure  and  life  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of 
Buddho's  system  and  which  he  had  identified  in 
other  of  the  Yonaka  sages  expounded  by  Diomedes 
and  Prote — usually,  however,  with  an  exaltation  on 
their  part  of  that  which  the  Sakiya  called  an  unqual 
ified  evil.  The  question  of  happiness  and  its  goal 
interested  him  as  tending  toward  a  conception  of 
Nibbana,  although  he  thought  the  distinction  be 
tween  happiness  and  pleasure  to  be  sophistical, 
unless  meaning  merely  a  difference  of  lower  and 
higher  pleasures.  He  reserved,  however,  the  ques 
tion  whether  there  might  be  a  condition  of  satisfac 


tion  which  was  not  pleasure  or  happiness,  but 
something  higher  than  either,  however  inconceivable 
by  reason.  Another  subject  of  remark  was  Aris 
toteles'  Happy  Medium. 

"The  Lord  of  the  Dhamma,  also,"  said  Revato, 
"proclaimed  the  Middle  Way.  But  his  was  another 
path  from  the  Mean  of  your  sage.  Yours  is  adapted 
to  the  genial  life  of  rich  cities,  his  to  the  quiet  of  the 
many-treed  forests  on  the  hills  about  my  home  at 
Giribbaja." 

"What  kinds  of  trees  grow  at  Giribbaja?"  asked 
Diomedes  with  real  interest. 

Revato  named  the  sala,  the  teak,  the  banyan,  the 
pipphala,  the  lodda  and  what  others  he  could  recall. 

"I  have  need  of  the  choicest  woods,"  Diomedes 
explained,  "for  framing  and  trimming  the  sang- 
harama  buildings — for  beams  and  rafters  and  jambs, 
for  doors  and  window  frames  and  shutters  and  bal 
conies.  No  trouble  has  been  spared  to  obtain  the 
best  lumber  adapted  to  each  purpose.  In  crossing 
the  mountains  on  our  way  to  Jambudipa  I  noticed 
how  large  and  straight  grew  the  Devadaru — sharp 
spined  'Tree  of  God' — and  would  you  believe  it? 
I  have  since  dispatched  foresters  to  that  far  north 
western  region  to  fell  for  me  those  trees  and  float 
them  down  upon  the  rivers.  Their  wood  has  its 
special  uses;  to  other  ends  I  require  the  pick  of  your 
southern  hard  timber." 

"We  have  some  tinduka  ebony,"  Revato  sug 
gested. 

"Saccang  nu  kho!  True,  now,  indeed!"  ex 
claimed  Diomedes  with  unfeigned  delight. 

"If  you  wish  to  learn  more  about  our  trees  at 
Rajagaha  than  I  can  tell  you,"  Revato  answered, 
"you  might  consult  the  Sakiyaputtiya  samana  Kon- 
danno,  who  was  a  wood  seller  before  his  pabbajja 
and  who  spends  every  vassa  among  us.  He  is  now 
in  Pataliputta,  staying  at  the  Kukkutarama." 

"I  would  like  to  talk  with  him,"  said  Diomedes 
eagerly.  "When  can  you  meet  me  there  and  intro 
duce  me  to  him?" 

"Shall  we  say  to-morrow  at  two  muhuttas — an 
an  hour  and  a  half — before  sunset?  He  will  probably 
then  have  returned  from  the  day's  wanderings." 

"Very  good,"  replied  Diomedes,  "I  shall  doubt 
less  take  occasion  by  the  end  of  hemanta — the  winter 
season — to  prospect  your  Rajagaha  mountains  for 
timber." 

"To  that  time,"  said  Revato,  "I  shall  look  forward 
expectantly.  If,  when  you  arrive,  you  will  call  on 
me  at  the  custom  house,  I  will  bid  you  welcome  to 
my  home." 

Diomedes  promised  that  he  would  do  so,  being 
in  his  best  humor  since  he  had  heard  about  the  trees. 
Revato  did  not  know  whether  it  would  conform  with 
Yonaka  etiquette  were  he  to  suggest  that  the  archi 
tect  bring  his  daughter  too;  but  he  hoped  that  so  the 
event  might  turn  out.  With  pleasant  anticipation 
of  this,  and  also  of  to-morrow's  meeting  with  Di 
omedes,  at  least,  in  the  Kukkutarama,  Revato  took 
a  late  leave  of  his  friendly  host  and  hostess. 


[65] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  WORLD  OUTSIDE  OF  THOUGHT 


Where  earth  nor  water,  flame  nor  wind,  attaineth 

A  footing  ground,  there  gleams  not  any  light; 

Not  there  the  sun  appears  nor  moon  remaineth 

Nor  is  it  yet  the  dwelling-place  of  night. 

He  knows  it  well  whose  holy  mind  constraineth 

To  broodings  of  the  Truth-fraught  eremite. 

No  world  of  shape  nor  unformed  world  shall  bound  him, 
Delight  and  anguish  nevermore  confound  him. 

AT  THE  COCK  GARDEN  MONASTERY 

It  was  far  into  the  pacchabhatta  of  the  day — 
that  long  period  which  intervenes  between  the  late 
morning  meal  and  fall  of  night — that  the  meditating, 
studying  and  conversing  bhikkhus  in  the  Cock 
Garden  Monastery  were  startled  by  the  news  that 
two  foreign  women  and  a  man  sought  admittance  at 
the  gate.  The  women  proved  to  be  Prote  and  her 
maid  lasis,  the  man  her  boatman  Nereus. 

Revato,  who  was  waiting,  met  her  with  wonder 
and  embarrassment,  to  catalogue  his  emotions  only 
in  part.  She  explained  to  him  that  her  father  had 
found  in  a  wall  of  one  of  the  cells  at  the  Parayana 
abbey  a  crack  caused  by  undermining  in  the  recent 
freshet,  and  had  sent  word  to  her  that  he  must 
remain  on  the  island  until  he  should  get  the  structure 
safely  shored  up.  In  default  of  instructions  to  the 
contrary,  she  had  thought  proper  to  come  here  herself 
and  present  the  excuse  to  Revato.  She  had  made 
the  trip  in  the  Nagi  boat  by  a  circuitous  route, 
down  the  Ganga  and  up  the  Hirannabahu,  entering  a 
lagoon  and  threading  through  the  canals  south  of  the 
city  till  solid  ground  blocked  the  way.  There  a  chair 
had  met  her  by  arrangement  and  had  carried  her  over 
the,  not  very  long,  land  journey  to  the  Kukkutarama. 

Prote  was  quite  willing  to  look  about  the  priory 
quadrangle  with  its  rows  of  cells.  It  was  built  on  a 
larger  scale  than  the  Parayana,  for  it  had  been 
erected  by  Asoko  to  shelter  a  thousand  monks  and  to 
constitute  the  capitol,  so  to  speak,  of  the  Dhamma 
religion.  The  buildings  were  brick  and  sudhakamma, 
stucco  work,  embellished  with  five-ribbon  scrolls, 
dragon's  tooth  tracery  and  figures  which  made  of 
them  wonderful  cittagaras — "picture  galleries." 
Prote,  however,  called  them  crude  and  tawdry. 

With  curiosity  she  inspected  the  various  offices 
of  the  great  institution  and  watched  the  brethren  at 
their  divers  avocations.  Some  were  stitching  robes, 
others  dyeing  the  fabric,  a  few  repeating  sacred 
texts,  more  gossipping. 

Prote  did  not  meet  the  Venerable  Kondanno, 
who  for  some  reason  failed  to  return  to  the  monastery 
when  expected,  so  that  Diomedes'  absence  saved 
Revato  from  a  broken  engagement  on  his  part. 
Kondanno  was  to  start  northward  the  next  morn 
ing,  and  consequently  the  plan  for  an  interview 
with  him  was  abandoned. 


With  some  trepidation  Revato  led  Prote  to  the 
cell  of  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo;  he  did  it  upon  her 
own  request. 

Since  Bharadvajo's  arrival  at  Pataliputta,  the 
infirmities  of  age  and  hardship  had  swiftly  de- 
cended  upon  him.  He  had  found  it  necessary  to 
remain  at  the  Cock  Garden  convent,  abandoning 
his  plan  for  a  winter's  travel  north  of  the  great  river, 
and  was  even  questioning  whether,  when  Kondanno 
should  rejoin  him,  he  would  be  strong  enough  to 
return  and  spend  the  next  vassa  at  Giribbaja. 

"I  too,"  he  might  have  said  in  the  words  of  the 
Blessed  One  on  his  last  pilgrimage,  "I  too  am 
grown  old,  and  full  of  years,  my  journey  is  drawing 
to  its  close,  I  have  reached  my  sum  of  days;  and  just 
as  a  worn-out  cart  can  only  with  much  additional 
care  be  made  to  move  along,  so,  methinks,  the 
body  of  the  Tathagato  can  only  be  kept  going  with 
much  additional  pains.  It  is  only,  when  the  Tatha 
gato,  ceasing  to  attend  to  any  outward  thing,  or  to 
experience  any  sensation,  becomes  plunged  in  that 
devout  meditation  of  heart  which  is  concerned  with 
no  material  object — it  is  only  then  that  the  body  of 
the  Tathagato  is  at  ease." 

Bharadvajo  felt  not  quite  at  home  with  the 
bhikkhus  of  the  Kukkutarama.  Much  true  piety 
and  humility  as  there  might  be  among  them,  there 
was  also,  as  inevitable  in  the  midst  of  that  capital 
city,  a  great  deal  of  disguised  worldliness  and  am 
bition,  a  vast  amount  of  clerical  politics,  bickering 
and  intrigue.  They  all  treated  him  with  kind 
deference,  but  his  simplicity  was  alien  from  the  spirit 
of  the  institution  and  he  longed  to  build  once  more 
his  grass  hut  on  the  Vulture's  Peak,  for  the  Lenten 
season,  in  the  presence,  as  it  were,  of  his  blessed 
Master.  Yet,  like  Pingiyo  of  old,  he  had  the  con 
solation: 

"Though  my  flesh  be  worn  and  wasted, 

Though  my  carnal  eye  be  dim, 

Though  my  body  cannot  follow, 

For  I  totter,  weak  of  limb, 

Forth  in  mind  and  thought  I  travel 

And  my  heart  is  joined  to  Him. " 

When  Revato  and  Prote  found  Bharadvajo,  he 
was  sitting  in  front  of  his  red-washed  cell,  by  the 
cangkama,  that  cloistered  walk  where  the  monks  are 
wont  to  move  to  and  fro  in  meditation.  Not  now 
could  he  move  to  and  fro,  but  he  was  seated  in  the 
lion  posture  of  revery.  The  Layman  had  felt  mis 
givings  as  to  the  monk's  demeanor  toward  this 
Yonaki  woman  and  toward  himself  as  her  com 
panion.  He  had  also  entertained  a  hope  that  his 
venerable  friend  would  recognize  the  evasive  truth 
that  lay  in  her  life  philosophy  and  make  it  easier 
for  him,  Revato,  to  grasp.  In  both  of  these  expec- 

[66] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


tations  he  was  disappointed,  for  the  old  man's  mind 
had  entered  a  state  almost  of  impassivity  to  scenes 
around  him. 

"Santang,  santang!  Hush,  hush!"  cautioned 
Revato  to  Prote  upon  perceiving  Bharadvajo's  con 
dition  of  revery.  He  looked  up,  aware  of  their 
approach  and  spoke  a  few  words,  but  connected 
conversation  was  impossible  to  him  and  his  talk 
took  the  form  only  of  mutterings  reminiscent  unto 
earlier  times  or  allusive  to  present  emotions.  Prote's 
proud  spirit  became  abashed  by  the  perceptible 
atmosphere  of  vital,  noble  facts  beyond  her  under 
standing. 

"Kacci  nu  bhoto  kusalang,  I  trust  there  is 
health  for  your  Reverence?"  she  ventured. 

"Vimutto,  vimutto,  released,  released,"  he  mur 
mured. 

"Are  you  perfectly  contented  and  happy?" 

"Adukkho,  asukho,  adukkho,  asukho — Painless, 
joyless,  painless,  joyless,"  and  he  continued  to 
asseverate,  "adukkho,  asukho,  asukho,  adukkho." 

The  visitors  remained  for  some  time  in  a  hush, 
but  afterward  began  to  converse,  whispering  between 
themselves,  and  withdrew  to  continue  their  talk  as 
they  strayed  about  the  great  pool  in  the  court. 

"He  seems  to  be  perfectly  happy  and  yet  he 
claims  to  be  free  from  joy  as  well  as  from  pain," 
said  Prote;  "what  does  he  mean  by  it?  Why  should 
one  strive  to  be  free  from  joy?  What  value  can 
there  be  in  anything  except  felicity?" 

"That  is  what  we  were  discussiong  yesterday, 
don't  you  remember?"  said  Revato.  "Pleasure  is 
freedom  from  pain,  and  is  negative,  though  it  seems 
to  us  positive.  And  yet  it  may  be  that  the  absence 
of  pain  and  joy  alike  which  holy  men  experience  in 
ecstasy  is  really  a  deep  form  of  pleasure.  Or,  perhaps 
in  Nibbana  there  is  a  sort  of  bliss  superior  to  any 
kind  of  joy.  For  Nibbana  is  well  called  Sududdasa, 
'Very  Hard  to  Behold.'  It  is  the  Ineffable,  the 
Inconceivable;  it  is  the  Atakkavacara,  Outside-of- 
Thought-Sphere,  which  our  understanding  fails  to 
grasp. 

"  'Reach  that  Eternal  Stage,  that  Utmost  Height, 
So  Clearly  Pure,  so  Subtle,  Hard  of  Sight.'  " 

"You  have  heard,"  continued  Revato,  "the  fable 
of  the  blind  men  who  examined  an  elephant  each 
by  feeling  of  a  different  part  and  then  vainly  dis 
puted  among  themselves  what  an  elephant  was  like. 
Just  so,  we  who  have  sensed  only  a  little  portion  of 
all  that  exists  cannot  be  made  to  perceive  matters 
in  which  we  have  had  no  dealings.  We  know  about 
Nibbana  only  two  facts:  First,  that  it  is  the  perfect 
condition,  or  rather,  unconditioned;  and  second, 
that  it  is  unlike  anything  with  which  we  have  had  to 
do.  Therefore,  I  make  bold  to  argue  that  since 
we  have  experienced  joy,  joy  cannot  make  there  its 
home,  and  since  we  have  felt  sorrow,  that  state  must 
be  sorrowless.  But  we  need  not,  on  the  other  hand, 
presume  Nibbana  to  be  a  stupid  lethargy,  such  as 


an  absence  of  pleasure  and  pain  seems  to  us;  for 
since  torpor  is  a  fact  of  our  knowledge,  torpor 
cannot  there  abide." 

"Did  Buddho  teach  all  this?"  asked  Prote. 

"Not  exactly,  but  implicitly.  When  the  ascetic 
Vaccho  enquired  of  him  where  an  arahat  goes  after 
death,  he  showed  that  this  was  like  asking  whether 
a  fire  that  has  gone  out  has  gone  east,  west,  north  or 
south.  The  fire,  which  depended  on  fuel  of  grass 
and  wood,  when  that  fuel  has  all  gone,  is  said  to  be 
extinct.  Just  so  it  is  when  all  properties  by  which 
we  can  describe  the  existence  of  the  saint  have  been 
destroyed.  He  that  thus  has  been  released  from 
form  and  formlessness  is,  however,  deep,  immeasur 
able,  unfathomable  like  the  ocean.  To  say  that  he 
is  reborn  would  not  fit  the  case;  to  say  that  he  is 
not  reborn,  would  not  fit  the  case." 

"The  Tathagato,"  Revato  went  on,  "thus  de 
clared  himself  free  from  all  theories;  he  refused  to 
tell  whether  Nibbana  is  a  state  of  existence  or  non- 
existence,  since  this  question  was  to  no  practical 
purpose.  Still,  I  do  not  think  he  meant  to  forbid 
our  wondering  about  it,  as  a  sin,  but  only  to  show 
that  it  is  foolish  to  speculate  where  there  are  no 
grounds  of  knowledge.  I  have  pondered  much  upon 
that  Ananto — that  Sassatiko — that  Eternal — State, 
but  my  notions  are  in  harmony  with  Buddho's 
meaning  for  they  are  deductions  from  its  very 
mystery." 

"It  is  the  life  of  the  aeons,  as  we  would  say," 
remarked  Prote,  half  sympathetically,  then  she 
added  with  a  feebly  cynical  reaction,  "Have  you 
never  visited  Nibbana?" 

"I?  Nonsense!  There  are  myriads  of  births  yet 
before  me.  But  its  attainment  would  not  enable 
me  to  make  it  clear  to  you,  for  those  who  have 
entered  it,  even  in  this  life,  find  no  words  by  which 
they  can  describe  it  to  others." 

"So  far  as  I  have  learned  your  religion,"  said  she, 
"Nibbana  is  to  me  blank  nothingness,  for  in  entering 
it,  the  consciousness  and  other  attributes  of  life  are 
destroyed,  or  rather  they  are  so  sterilized  that  they 
have  no  power  of  re-creation  after  the  natural  death 
of  the  saint.  Is  this  view  of  mine  correct?" 

"It  is,  so  far  as  anyone  can  understand  the  case," 
Revato  answered.  "You  have  a  wonderful  mind 
for  a  woman  to  seize  on  truth.  By  strict  worldly 
logic  there  is  nothing  in  the  idea  of  Nibbana  on 
which  a  state  of  existence  can  be  based,  and,  in  any 
sense  to  be  terrestrially  grasped,  Nibbana  is  simply 
a  region  of  nibbuta,  being  blown  out. — But  there 
are  regions  where  logic  is  stultified  by  facts:  One  of 
them  is  the  Origin  of  the  primary  Cause  of  things; 
another  may  be  Nibbana.  In  this  very  obscurity 
lies  the  possibility  that  Nibbana,  even  after  death, 
may  be  something  real,  something  copious  and  mag 
nificent.  The  Tathagato  declared: 

'"All  the  rivers  of  the  world  and  all  the  torrents 
of  rain  that  fall  from  the  sky  enter  the  great  ocean, 
and  no  deficiency  or  surplus  of  water  is  perceptible 
in  the  great  ocean.  Thus  when  innumerable  saints 


[67] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


merge  all  their  elements  of  'becoming'  into  Nibbana, 
where  no  element  of  'becoming'  remains,  still  there 
is  no  diminution  or  surplus  perceptible  in  Nibbana." 

"You  remind  me  of  the  epitaphs  that  we  inscribe 
on  our  funereal  urns,"  said  Prote:  "'The  earth  hath 
received  his  body,  the  aether  his  soul.  It  was  min 
gled  together  and  was  separated;  it  went  again  from 
whence  it  came,  earth  to  earth,  the  spirit  upward. 
What  is  difficult  here?  Nothing.'  Yet  why  should 
we  waste  the  happy,  fleeting  hours  in  long-winded 
conjectures  about  a  shadowy  bliss  hereafter  which 
is  neither  this  nor  that  nor  yet  the  other  thing?" 

"It  depends  upon  your  view  of  life,"  answered 
Revato  persistently.  "You  feel  that  life  is  sweet, 
but  in  a  few  years  you  will  discover  that  you  were 
mistaken  and  that  all  the  sweetness  lay  in  being 
young.  When  sorrow,  disease,  and  decay  have 
done  their  work,  you  will  admit  that  you  do  not 
care  to  live  another  life  like  the  present,  even  for 
the  sake  of  being  young  again.  Then  what?  Before 
you  is  an  endless  chain  of  such  lives.  Death  only 
renews  them  and  a  wilful  death  but  adds  to  their 
calamity.  What  you  should  seek  is  a  direct  reversal 
of  your  present  conditions.  You  have  endured 
through  countless  existences  in  worlds  of  the  origi 
nated  and  born;  your  only  escape  is  to  a  realm  of  the 
unoriginated  and  unborn.  You  have  dwelt  where 
time  is,  you  would  dwell  henceforth  where  time  is 
not.  As  the  Master  has  said,  'Where  there  is  de 
pendence,  there  is  instability;  where  there  is  no 
dependence,  there  is  no  instability;  where  there  is  no 
instability,  there  is  quietude;  where  there  is  quietude, 
there  is  no  desire;  where  there  is  no  desire,  there  is 
no  coming  and  going;  where  there  is  no  coming  or 
going,  there  is  neither  birth  nor  death;  where  there  is 
no  birth  nor  death,  there  is  neither  one  world  nor 
another  world,  nor  both:  That  is  the  end  of  sorrow.' 

"And  the  end  of  sorrow,"  continued  Revato, 
"may  still  be  a  very  positive  condition,  rich  to  sat 
isfy  every  right  aspiration.  When  we  drop  from  the 
weary  wheel  of  existence  we  shall  fall,  perchance, 
into  the  deepest  gulf  of  Truth.  What  is  Nibbana 
after  death  but  a  prolongation  of  Nibbana  on  earth? 
and  in  Nibbana  on  earth  the  saints  have  found  a 
plenitude  of  meaning.  Yet  for  myself  I  confess 
that  what  I  long  after  is  neither  fullness  nor  rich 
ness,  but  rest." 

As  Revato  concluded  his  speech,  Prote  passed 
judgment  upon  it  with  a  quotation  from  some  one 
of  her  Ionian  poets: 

"Unwisely  thou  strainest  for  wisdom 
Withholden  from  human  discernment. 
Fleeting  is  lifetime,  and  therefore, 
Whoso  pursues  the  prodigious 

Forfeits  his  part  in  the  present. 
Foolish,  infatuate,  silly, 
Are  such  men  in  my  estimation. " 

DRIFTING 

Dusk  was  now  creeping  into  the  shade  of  the 
cloister,  warning  Prote  to  depart  for  home.  Revato, 


at  her  bidding,  accompanied  her,  walking  beside  her 
chair  to  the  boat. 

On  the  way  they  talked  of  what  they  had  just 
seen,  Prote  being  loud  in  her  scorn  of  the  brethren 
at  the  abbey  as  encumbrances  of  human  society  like 
parasitic  creepers  clinging  to  the  strong  jungle 
trees.  Revato  argued  that  their  influence  was  a  more 
potent  factor  for  public  welfare  than  any  manual  oc 
cupations  could  be  and  that  their  way  of  life  was  the 
best  fitted  to  impress  their  character  upon  mankind. 

"//  they  were  all  of  such  high  character,"  she 
rejoined,  "but  are  they?"  and  this  led  to  citation  of 
examples  on  both  sides. 

Right  so  they  came  to  the  boat  that  was  waiting 
for  them  and  after  Prote  had  dismissed  her  bearers, 
rewarding  them  with  a  kahapana  between  them, 
she  entered  the  craft  together  with  Revato,  lasis 
and  Nereus.  The  boatman  soon  had  it  shooting 
through  the  canals  and  out  upon  the  Hirannabahu 
river.  They  passed  by  husbandmen  returning  from 
the  fields  and  herds  from  pasture. 

"Evening,  thou  bringest  all  that  bright  morning 
scattered,"  murmured  Prote.  "Thou  comest  from 
heaven,  wearing  a  purple  mantle.  Thaumas  is 
hovering  near  us;  see  how  the  water  reflects  the 
lights  of  the  sky  and  the  dark  of  the  banks.  Do  you 
hear  that  low  sound  over  yonder?  That's  Pan  play 
ing  on  his  reeds.  And  do  you  see  a  flash  of  white 
among  the  trees?  That's  the  flying  robes  of  the 
naiads  and  dryads  who  are  dancing  around  him." 

"I  would  gladly  exchange  eyes  and  ears  with  you," 
said  Revato,  "so  that  I  might  perceive  the  good 
things  which  are  not,  rather  than  the  evil  things 
which  are." 

"There  is  no  evil,  only  good,"  she  answered. 

"No  evil?"  he  repeated  sadly. 

"Look  at  those  bubbles,"  she  commanded,  point 
ing  among  the  reeds  by  the  bank. 

"Yes,    what   of   them?"    he   asked. 

"Are  they  moving  with  the  stream  or  against  it?" 

"They  are  going  against  it." 

"No  they  are  not,"  she  protested.  "They  are 
going  with  the  stream,  only  they  are  caught  in  a  little 
eddy  where  the  current  strikes  the  banks  and  so  are 
moving  opposite  to  the  main  flow.  That  is  all  that 
evil  is,  a  little  local  eddy  of  the  great  good  river 
where  it  meets  an  obstacle.  And  it's  only  a  hollow 
bubble,  anyway." 

"Let  the  great,  good  river  try  its  hand  at  reversing 
the  fact  of  past  torments,"  said  Revato  bitterly. 

The  sky  was  now  almost  dark,  for  this  was  a 
season  of  short  days.  On  the  obscured  banks  lamps 
began  to  kindle  in  temple  and  dwelling.  A  thupa 
across  the  stream  was  illumined  in  honor  of  some, 
sacred  fete,  with  numerous  star-like  candles  in  little 
niches  studding  its  dome.  These  various  lights  the 
intervening  water  duplicated  without  distortion. 
Mingling  with  the  reflections,  were  also  some  true 
lights,  moving  stars, — floating  oil  lamps  which  cele 
brants  of  the  festival  had  committed  to  an  unknown 
destiny  upon  the  receding  water. 


[68] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


Prote  commanded  Nereus  to  ship  his  oars  and  let 
the  craft  drift  with  the  current,  which  was  slower 
than  during  the  flood  of  the  preceding  fortnight,  yet 
rapid  enough  for  their  desires.  So  smoothly  flowed 
the  stream  that  the  boat's  progress  was  perceptible 
only  by  the  fixed  lights.  They  kindled  a  lantern  with 
sides  of  horn  so  thin  as  to  let  through  the  shine  of 
the  inner  lamp,  and  fastened  it  on  the  skiff's  prow. 

The  girl  was  in  a  mood  for  frank,  earnest  speech, 
and  in  the  Pali  tongue,  which  she  had  learned  to  use 
so  dexterously,  her  words  were  safe  from  the  profane 
understanding  of  Nereus  and  lasis.  In  the  river 
those  who  would  might  read  the  lesson  of  every  sea 
ward  flowing  stream,  which  is  written  in  all  lan 
guages  and  in  all  lives: 

Nuestras  vidas  son  los  rios 
Que  van  a  dar  en  el  mar, 
Que  es  el  morir. 

The  scene  in  the  Kukkutarama  might  have 
prompted  such  an  expression,  but  not  by  the  will  of 
Prote.  Her  conversation  played  about  the  beautiful 
cities  of  her  own  country  and  the  heroic  deeds  of 
its  sons. 

Revato  listened,  attentive  not  to  the  martial 
exploits,  but  to  her  recital  of  high  thoughts  and  great 
works  in  peace.  Presently  he  said: 

"You  admit,  Prote,  do  you  not,  that,  as  we  were 
remarking  at  the  vihara,  there  are  subjects,  like 
Nibbana  and  First  Causes,  where  logic  is  confuted?" 

"I  do  not  think  so, "replied  she; "logic  would  never 
fail  us  if  we  used  it  properly.  Anything  can  be 
rationally  explained,  if  it  is  understood." 

"Then  perhaps,"  said  Revato,  "you,  who  see 
many  things  so  much  more  clearly  than  I,  can 
answer  for  me  a  riddle,  which  is  a  more  perplexing 
one  than  Nibbana  and  to  me  more  vital.  Here  are 
two  roads  of  life.  One  is  the  path  of  strict  righteous 
ness,  wherein  if  a  man  walk  he  must  subject  himself 
to  renunciation  and  failure,  must  reject  all  earthly 
happiness  for  himself  and  even  his  efficiency  to  help 
mankind.  The  other  is  the  way  of  you  and  your 
countrymen,  which  conscience  does  not  infest  and  yet 
which  is  full  of  beauty,  joy  and  beneficent  result. 
These  are  hostile  opposites.  I  know  that  the  first  is 
true,  you  know  that  the  second  is  true.  Is  one  of  us 
crazy  or  are  we  both?  Is  there  no  reconciliation  in 
logic  or  beyond  logic?  Upon  your  answer  depend 
life  now  and  countless  lives  to  come.  Prote,  Prote, 
answer  my  riddle." 

"What  ground,"  she  retorted,  "have  you  for 
charging  us  Hellenes  with  being  unscrupulous  male 
factors?  Do  good  and  evil  grow  on  the  same  tree?" 

"Yes,  on  the  tree  of  the  human  heart,"  answered 
Revato.  "Custom  may  lead  the  best  of  men  to  per 
petrate  any  enormity  as  a  matter  of  course.  Witness 
torture — What  crime  can  be  worse  than  to  inflict 
it? — yet  the  mildest  of  kings  use  it  without  pausing 
to  consider.  Still  it  is  not  of  heinous  wrongs  that  I 
would  now  accuse  your  people,  but  of  such  as  our 
inmost  hearts  must  judge.  Things  which  you  may 


regard  as  virtues  become  mortal  sins  under  our 
blessed  Dhamma.  Have  you  never  heard  of  the 
monk  who  was  accused  of  stealing  scent  from  a  lotus 
flower,  because  a  small  offence  shows  in  a  pure 
person?" 

"If  offences  be  trivial,"  Prote  exclaimed,  "they 
are  trivial;  then  why  worry?" 

"Nothing,  however  small,"  insisted  Revato,  "is 
trivial  if  it  is  an  asava,  a  taint  of  character.  Not  the 
magnitude  of  a  sin  but  its  recognition  by  our  minds, 
our  conscience  clinging  to  it,  makes  it  a  vital  trait 
in  us." 

"Suppose,"  argued  Prote,  "you  owed  a  rich  man  a 
few  grains  of  rice,  to  pay  which  would  starve  you, 
and  you  knew  that  he  was  perfectly  willing  to 
remit  the  debt,  would  you  not  be  a  fool  to  give  it  a 
further  thought?  If  there  is  wrong  in  anything  we 
do,  the  reason  must  be  that  it  tends  to  work  harm 
against  the  world;  when,  therefore,  the  world 
scorns  to  consider  an  injury,  why  should  we  dwell 
upon  it?" 

"Have  we  not,"  contended  Revato,  "responsibili 
ties  which  the  world  is  powerless  to  relieve?" 

"Responsibilities  to  whom?  To  the  gods?  They 
are  lenient.  To  the  Fates?  They  also  have  common 
sense." 

"To  the  law  of  Paticcasamuppada,  of  cause  and 
consequence,"  Revato  answered,  "the  law  that  our 
immeasurable  future  is  bound  to  be  just  what  we 
make  it  by  the  intents  of  our  heart.  There  is  no 
weakness,  no  forgetfulness: 

"Not  in  the  lofty  air  nor  ocean's  hollow, 
Nor  dark  in  some  deep  cave's  perpetual  night, 
Nor  any  other  where,  shall  cease  to  follow 
The  present  power  of  a  past  unright." 

"The  worst  that  can  be  charged  to  one's  ac 
count,"  said  Prote,  "is  impiety  against  the  gods. 
With  that  they  are  more  angry  than  with  anything 
else;  still  they  may  be  mollified,  even  for  this,  by 
our  contrition  and  expiatory  rites. 

"Lofty  and  large  the  Immortals,  still  do  they  deign  condescension; 

Moved  are  their  hearts  by  fragrant  incense  and  smoke  of  the  altar, 

Sprinkled  libations  or  vows  which  the  penitent  pay  to  incline 
them; 

For,  ever  there  be  a  deliction,  it  leads  to  a  prayer  of  appeasement. 

Prayers  of  the  contrite  are  daughters  of  Zeus,  the  offspring  of 
Kronos, 

Halting  and  haggard  and  shame-faced  watchers  afar  on  trans 
gression, 

Long  outstripped  by  the  fleet-foot  Sin,  whom  following  after, 

Over  the  world  they  wander  to  heal  the  harm  that  awaits  them. 

Whoso  holdeth  in  honor  the  daughters  of  Zeus,  they  will  favor, 

Winning  to  pardon  their  father  who  reigns  on  the  heights  of 
Olympus." 

"Prote,"  exclaimed  Revato,  "I  must  set  you  down 
as  an  Ahetuki — a  disbeliever  in  Causation — an 
infidel.  How  can  anyone  with  your  otherwise  clear 
mind  be  sunken  in  such  ignorance?" 

"By  causation,"  she  replied,  "you  refer  to 
Yathadhamma,  justice.  But  the  severity  over 
which  you  gloat  is  most  unjust." 


[69] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"I'm  not  quite  sure  I  do  mean  justice,"  said 
Revato.  "Justice  is  such  a  familiar  idea  that  we 
take  it  for  granted,  but  if  we  really  try  to  grasp 
it,  it  vanishes.  Between  doing  wrong  and  suffering 
pain  in  consequence,  there  is  a  relation  according  to 
the  way  the  world  is  made,  but  not,  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  in  pure  reason.  Two  wrongs  do  not  make  a 
right.  Punishment  is  only  a  rough  and  ready  ex 
pedient  of  Nature  and  man,  producing  results.  That 
is  partly  why  I  pity  the  felon  more  than  the  martyr. 
The  former  is  punished  doubly — both  outwardly  and 
inwardly — and  no  evil  is  righted,  but  a  new  wrong  is 
committed.  Some  can  assuage  their  pity  at  misery 
on  the  theory  of  demerit  in  past  lives,  but  I  cannot 
to  my  satisfaction." 

"Then  it  is  you  yourself  who  are  the  unbeliever  in 
Causation,"  exclaimed  Prote.  "You  deny  Buddho's 
basic  doctrine." 

"If  I  do,"  he  answered,  "I  distinguish  between 
fact  and  reason.  The  latter  should  govern  the  spirit 
ual  realm  of  life  and  teach  us  mercy  rather  than 
retaliation  in  our  dealings  one  with  another.  Yet  it 
should  not  lead  us  to  forget  that  we  are  caught  in  an 
endless  chain  of  consequences,  be  they  logical  or 
illogical." 

"The  worst  that  can  happen  to  us  is  to  leave  the 
world,"  said  Prote,  "and  our  transition  will  not  last 
long." 

"How  can  you  blink  the  truth,  Prote,  that  this 
world  is  for  us  only  a  little  link  in  a  chain?" 

"What  proof  have  you  of  that?" 

"None  that  you  would  accept.  When  I  try  to 
rest  it  on  firm  grounds  I  am  at  a  loss,  and  I  begin  to 
question  my  own  belief  in  it.  But  then  I  reflect: 
'If  I  did  not  believe  it,  how  unspeakably  different 
would  be  my  purposes  in  life  from  what  they  are 
now?'  So  I  prove  to  myself,  not  the  fact  indeed, 
but  my  faith  in  the  fact.  If  the  probability  that  we 
shall  be  reborn  after  death  is  no  greater  than  one 
sesamum  seed,  still  that  little  seed  contains  a  germ 
of  possibilities  greater  than  all  Himacala.  There 
fore,  in  proportion  as  I  realize  this,  I  declare  that, 
in  spite  of  many  doubtings,  I  have  tremendous 
faith  in  the  Dhamma.  An  old  saint  said  of  Bhagava : 

'He  will  end  the  doubters'  questions 
If  they  will  but  let  him  in.' 

"Until  you,  Prote,  become  imbued  with  his  teach 
ings  you  can  never  see  things  through  eyes  like  mine. 
Not  that  I  have  attained  to  a  supernal  knowledge — 
I  who  have  never  complied  with  the  conditions 
announced  by  the  Blessed  One: 

"  'If  a  brother  should  desire  to  touch  and  feel  with  his  hand 
even  the  sun  and  moon,  mighty  and  powerful  though  they  be, 
and  to  reach  in  the  body  even  to  the  heaven  of  Brahma,  let  him 
fulfill  all  righteousness,  let  him  be  devoted  to  that  quietude  of 
heart  which  springs  from  within,  let  him  not  drive  back  the 
ecstasy  of  contemplation,  let  him  look  through  things,  let  him 
be  much  alone.'  " 

"I  do  not  think  to  touch  the  sky  with  my  two 
arms!"  cried  Prote,  "and  I  would  not  dwell  alone 


to  attain  it.  Come,  make  an  end  of  this  soul-wasting 
grief.  You  are  as  bad  as  the  monk  I  heard  of,  who  so 
brooded  on  the  thought  of  death  that  the  sough  of 
the  wind,  the  rustle  of  a  fan,  or  the  cry  of  a  bird 
would  make  him  shriek  in  abject  terror  and  dash 
away.  Such  men  we  call  'cowardly  after  a  brutish 
sort.'  And  you  are  like  Pentheus,  the  sombre- 
visaged  king  who  fettered  the  limbs  of  Dionysus, 
but  soon  after,  falling  himself  under  the  spell  of  the 
revellers,  was  torn  to  pieces  by  his  own  drunken 
mother,  whom  the  gods  incited  to  avenge  his  cruel 
repression.  Your  grievous  spirit  will  make  you 
finally  rebound  to  riot  and  destruction." 

"I  might  have  known,  Lady,"  said  Revato  sadly, 
"that  you  could  never  answer  my  riddle.  Our  souls 
are  divided  by  an  impassable  wall.  You  have 
treated  me  with  that  most  ignoble  mockery,  absolute 
misapprehension.  You  would  clothe  a  foul  skeleton 
in  rich,  perfume'd  garments,  you  would  gather  lillies 
in  a  lake  of  blood." 

"You  may  be  wiser  than  I  in  many  ways,  Revato, 
but  do  not  suppose  that  you  can  compass  the  mind 
of  the  Immortal  Ones,  who  contrived  all  that  we 
know  and  are.  You  say  yourself  that  bounds  are  set 
to  reason.  Why  not  seek  consolation  in  your 
ignorance  ? 


them, 
And  the  paths  undiscerned  of  our  eyes,  the  gods  unseal  them'  " — 

During  the  dialogue  Prote  had  evinced  a  growing 
disquiet  at  the  preferably  never  overstepped  limits 
of  her  living  interests.  Repeatedly  she  shuddered 
and  bit  her  lips  as  if  to  emphasize  her  defect  of 
adjustment.  This  last  reply  was  her  final  effort  at 
debate.  Finding  that  Revato  did  not  immediately 
respond  to  it,  she  took  occasion  for  an  attempt  to 
extinguish  the  mortuary  discussion  with  a  fresh 
breeze  of  life. 

"For  me,"  she  said,  "the  hereafter  will  be  a 
memory  of  my  to-days,  a  memory  which  will  linger 
when  you  and  I  are  gone.  As  the  colors  of  the  fields 
and  wood  renew,  season  by  season,  I  trust  that  they 
may  forever  bloom  a  little  brighter  because  of  my 
presence  now." 

They  were  still  floating  on,  with  unrippling  motion, 
down  the  Golden-Armed  river,  toward  its  confluence 
with  the  greater  one.  Above  the  earthly  Ganga, 
with  its  reflected  lights,  flowed  the  skyey  Ganga — 
The  Milky  Way — with  a  soft  radiance  all  its  own — an 
undeviating  stream  whose  banks  were  fixed  eternally, 
like  the  Sambuddhasandakasa,  the  Firmament  of 
Buddho's  truth. 

Not  such  a  far,  unattainable  region  now  claimed 
Revato,  but  his  delicious  terrestrial  environment, 
for  Prote,  striking  once  more  her  lute  strings,  sang  to 
the  happier  notes  of  the  sky,  which  she,  as  ever,  was 
alert  to  read,  a  song  which  brought  it  near  to  en 
courage  her  own  good  humors: 


[70] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


"I,  a  terrestrial  reveler, 
Gaze  on  the  glittering  star-dance, 
Westerly,  down  in  the  sky. 
Be  it  not  said  that  when  others 
Made  merry,  I  ever  stood  mournful 
Or  pressed  a  slow,  pondering  heel-print. 
But  crested  with  wild-flung  garlands, 
I  have  smitten  the  sonorous  tambour, 
Leading  the  life  of  the  orb-world, 
Lyre-bearing,  crowned,  like  me." 


At  last  the  thoughtful  despair  in  Revato's 
heart  fell  asleep  from  weariness,  while  unreason 
ing  joy  exerted  its  latent  resiliency.  Peace  pos 
sessed  him,  as  gentle  as  the  gliding  of  the  unpro- 
pelled  boat.  That  voyage  was  destined  to  remain 
a  transfixed  event  among  the  fleeting  memories  of 
time. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION 


As,  early  on  the  morning  after  his  visit  to  the 
Kukkutarama  and  return  by  boat  with  Prote, 
Revato  walked  forth  from  his  lodging  through  the 
city  streets,  he  came  up  behind  an  old  mendicant 
friar  with  bowl  half  full  of  rice  and  herbs  collected 
at  the  charitable  doors  of  the  citizens.  The  absence 
of  flesh  food  from  the  bowl  indicated  that  its  bearer 
was  one  of  those  most  consistent  and  tender-hearted 
devotees  who  not  only  avoid  killing  or  causing  to 
kill  any  animal,  but  refuse  to  partake  of  its  sub 
stance  though  it  has  already  been  slaughtered.  This 
bhikkhu  was  bent  and  feeble;  his  face  was  pro 
foundly  sad,  yet  almost  childish  in  its  expression, 
although  it  was  a  countenenace  that  suggested  a 
history  of  strength.  Not  at  first  did  Revato  realize 
that  he  was  brushing  against  the  poor  yellow  robe  of 
Asoko  Piyadassi,  King  of  Kings.  When  recognition 
came  to  him  Revato  fell  back  abashed.  Loitering 
afar,  he  followed  the  royal  monk  in  the  spirit  of  a 
worshipper. 

As  the  mendicant  walked  with  eyes  downcast  to 
a  plough's  length  ahead  of  him,  going  from  house  to 
house  and  omitting  none,  he  would  stop  before  the 
doors  and,  silently  holding  his  bowl,  await  a  pinda- 
pata,  then  totter  forward  with  diminished  strength. 
Cares  not  alone  of  politics,  but  responsibility  for  the 
temporal  and  eternal  happiness  of  living  millions, 
human  and  animal,  had  brought  him  as  low  as  old 
Bharadvajo,  of  whose  tranquil  years  he  had  by  a 
score  the  advantage  in  fewness.  When  he  passed  the 
hermitage  hill,  he  stopped  and  fixed  his  gaze  on  the 
grottoed  summit  once  tenanted  by  his  young  brother, 
the  missionary  Mahindo.  All  Magadha  knew  the 
burdens  of  family  sorrow  that  he  was  bearing — the 
sacrifice  of  his  best-loved  ones  for  the  salvation  of 
distant  Lanka,  while  among  those  of  his  household 
who  remained  had  arisen  opposition  to  his  good 
efforts,  treason  against  his  throne,  and,  in  the  near 
est  relation  of  all,  a  nameless  infamy. 

From  one  house  before  which  Asoko  stopped  came 
a  gruff  voice: 

"Bhikkhumhi  yahi!    Beggar  begone!" 

This  was  not  the  ordinary  smooth  refusal,  "Atic- 
chatha,  Seek  alms  elsewhere."  Into  the  word 
"Beggar"  the  speaker's  tone  imported  none  of  the 


exalted  sense  due  to  a  holy  man.  It  must  have 
been  a  Brahmin  or  Jaina  who,  returning  evil  for 
good,  was  disposed  to  feed  no  mendicant  of  another 
religion. 

Revato  darted  up  furiously,  angry  at  this  unusual 
insult  offered  to  the  yellow  robe  as  much  as  to  its 
royal  wearer.  But  seeing  how  meekly  and  wearily 
the  king  passed  on  in  silence,  he  felt  that  composure 
was  the  royal  pleasure. 

Now  came  to  Revato  a  remembrance  that  this  was 
his  long-awaited  opportunity  to  address  himself  to 
the  king  regarding  the  customs  receivership.  For 
the  last  few  days  he  had  almost  forgotten  about  it, 
although  it  ostensibly  was  the  only  object  that  was 
keeping  him  so  long  in  Pataliputta. 

Before  he  had  quite  summoned  resolution  to  speak, 
his  attention  was  diverted  by  the  King's  itinerary, 
for  Asoko  now  turned  into  the  street  where  dwelt 
Diomedes  the  architect.  When  arrived  at  the  Yona's 
door,  the  mendicant  halted  and  stood  in  his  usual 
receptive  attitude,  ready  for  a  morsel  to  complete 
his  breakfast. 

For  a  long  time  the  occupants  of  the  house  gave  no 
evidence  of  noticing  his  presence;  then  the  door 
opened  and  a  Yonaka  serving  man  set  upon  him  a 
ferocious-looking  dog.  The  creature,  however,  was 
better  than  its  master  and,  after  a  perfunctory  bark, 
came  up  to  Piyadassi  wagging  its  tail. 

However  curt  had  been  the  Brahmin's  rebuff,  no 
Ariya  would  ever  have  committed  such  an  outrage 
as  this.  Revato  was  now  ready  in  earnest  to  lay 
violent  hands  upon  the  Yonaka.  But  suddenly  in 
the  doorway  stood  Prote. 

Unthinking  as  yet  who  waited  in  front  of  her,  she 
was  anxious  to  repudiate  the  inhospitable  conduct 
of  her  servant  and  she  came  to  bid  the  old  monk 
enter  her  dwelling.  Asoko  staggered  through  the 
door  and  corridor  into  the  central  court.  As  he  stood 
holding  to  a  pillar,  she  recognized  him  and  with  a 
cry  of  horror,  prostrated  herself  at  his  feet  and  kissed 
his  alms  bowl. 

"Maharaja,  namo  ty  atthu,"  she  cried — "Great 
King,  hail  to  thee!  Svagatang  te  Piyadassi — 
Welcome  to  thee,  Majesty."  Sternly  he  bade  her 
arise,  and  then  her  adoration  of  royalty  ran  riot  with 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


proffers  of  every  hospitable  office  for  his  honor  and 
comfort. 

He  ignored  them,  but  commanded  in  a  quiet  tone 
of  authority: 

"Fetch  for  me  the  rug  that  is  hanging  yonder,  and 
spread  it  beneath  the  potted  tree,  for  a  couch  with  its 
head  to  the  north.  I  am  weary  and  would  lie  down." 

She  brought  the  rug  and  spread  it  beneath  the 
potted  tree  for  a  couch,  with  its  head  to  the  north. 
Piyadassi  laid  himself  down  in  the  dignified  way  that 
a  lion  does,  on  his  right  side  with  one  leg  resting  upon 
the  other.  Then  he  spake  no  word  and  made  no 
motion. 

Prote  knelt  in  front  of  him  and  fanned  him;  Revato 
stood  close  by.  While  thus  they  waited,  the  sun 
crept  high  in  the  heavens. 

By  and  by  there  occurred  to  them  both  this 
thought:  "How  calm  are  all  the  limbs  of  the  great 
King  Asoko,  the  mendicant!  Oh  may  it  not  be  that 
he  is  dead?" 

Then  King  Asoko,  the  mendicant,  opened  his 
eyes  and  moved  his  lips  and  spoke  to  them  thus: 

"Friends,  I  put  away  ease,  I  put  away  pain,  and 
by  the  dying  out  both  of  gladness  and  sorrow  I 
entered  into  and  remained  in  a  state  of  purified 
self-possession.  I  pervaded  one  quarter  of  the 
world  with  Metta,  Friendship,  and  with  Mudita, 
Congratulation,  and  with  Karuna,  Compassion,  and 
with  Upekha,  Equanimity;  so  did  I  the  second 
quarter,  and  so  the  third  and  so  the  fourth.  Thus 
the  whole  wide  world,  above,  below,  around  and 
everywhere,  did  I  continue  to  pervade  with  heart  of 
kindness  and  sympathy  and  pity  and  peace,  far- 
reaching,  grown  great  and  beyond  measure,  free 
from  the  least  trace  of  anger  or  ill-will." 

He  paused,  and  Prote,  anxious  to  stimulate  him, 
addressed  him  thus: 

_  "Thine,  O  King,  are  four-and-forty  thousand 
cities,  the  chief  of  which  is  the  royal  city  of  the 
Trumpet  Flower.  Arise,  O  King,  reawaken  thy 
desire  for  these;  quicken  thy  longing  after  life. 

"Thine,  O  King,  are  mansions  having  staircases 
of  gold  and  silver,  of  crystal  and  beryl,  having 
chambers  filled  with  ivory  and  sandal-wood  and  all 
manner  of  gems;  with  chairs  and  divans  whereon  are 
flower-embroidered  cloths  and  long-haired  rugs 
and  magnificent  antelope  skins  and  cushions  of 
purple  silk.  Thine,  O  King,  are  state  elephants  and 
horses  with  trappings  of  gold,  and  gilded  banners 
and  coverings  of  net-work.  Thine  are  chariots  with 
skins  of  lions  and  of  tigers  and  of  panthers,  whereof 
the  chariot  called  the  Flag  of  Victory  is  the  chief. 
Arise,  O  King,  reawaken  thy  desire  for  all  of  these, 
quicken  thy  longing  after  life. 

"Thine,  O  King"— 

But  he  interrupted  her: 

"At  other  times,  O  lady,  thou  hast  addressed  me  in 
pleasant  words,  and  sweet.  Yet  now  in  this  last 
time,  thou  speakest  in  unpleasant,  disagreeable 
words." 


O 


"How  then,  O  King,  should  I  address  thee?" 

"Thus,  ayya,  shouldst  thou  address  me:  'The 
nature  of  all  things  near  and  dear  to  us,  O  King,  is 
such  that  we  must  leave  them,  sever  ourselves  from 
them,  separate  ourselves  from  them.  Pass  not  away 
with  longing  in  thy  heart.  Sad  is  the  death  of  him 
who  longs.  Unworthy  is  the  death  of  him  who  longs. 
Thine,  O  King,  are  these  four-and-forty  thousand 
cities,  thine  are  these  palaces,  these  elephants  and 
these  horses.  Cast  away  desire  for  them;  long  not 
after  life.'  " 

When  the  desire  is  dead,  events  matter  not.  For 
him  on  whom  life  had  no  more  hold,  it  was  still  in 
store.  Asoko  arose  from  his  rest  with  the  vigor  of 
a  man  and  the  majesty  of  a  king.  With  all  his 
monastic  discipline,  he  was  yet  the  great  monarch; 
though  the  royal  elephant  had  been  tamed,  it  was 
still  powerful  in  its  movements. 

Prote  beheld  him  with  the  eye  which  glistens 
toward  a  hero.  "O  Majesty,  Devanam-Piya,  of  the 
Moriya  line,  whose  emblem  is  the  bird  of  our  Immor 
tals'  queen,  as  she  remaineth  ever  young,  so  thou, 
King  of  human  men,  art  still  in  thy  prime — still  for 
life  and  love.  Hark,  it  is  I,  a  fair  woman,  who  tell 
thee  so." 

A  storm  of  beauty  swept  across  her  face,  tempestu 
ous  beauty  such  as  Revato  had  never  seen  upon  it 
and  which  filled  him  with  wonder,  almost  angry. 
Her  eyes  were  fastened  upon  Asoko's  face  with  a 
boldness  that  might  have  caused  offence  to  the 
King,  confusion  to  the  friar.  In  neither  capacity 
did  he  show  any  perturbation,  but  calmly  returned 
the  gaze  and  answered  her: 

"Dhltike,  daughter,  thou  art  fair  and  full  of 
youthful  ardor,  as  was  mine  own  child  when  she  left 
me,  to  carry  over  the  waters  that  blessed  branch 
which  will  bear  saving  fruit  for  a  nation.  May'st 
thou,  like  her,  embrace  the  blessed  Truth." 

Prote  dropped  her  eyes,  confused.  Then,  in  an 
altered  tone  and  manner,  with  a  new  form  of  earnest 
ness,  she  said: 

"Wilt  thou  pardon  my  forwardness,  O  King, 
and  wilt  thou  consent  to  listen  if  yet  again  I  address 
thee?" 

"Mine  ear,"  he  replied,"  has  long  been  open  to  the 
meanest  among  the  border  tribes  of  my  people  to 
audit  their  complaints.  I  have  encouraged  their 
confidence.  Why  then,  lady,  should  I  repel  thine? 
Only,  pray  tempt  me  not  with  evil  enticements." 

"Great  King,"  said  Prote,  "I  will  speak  only  that 
which  tends  to  thine  honor.  Thou  hast  inherited  a 
dominion  which  Alexander  coveted  in  vain,  a  realm 
which  thou  hast  made  vast  among  the  empires  of 
the  earth.  Well  may  it  be  called  Sammudapariyanta 
— Ocean  Bound!  Thou  hast  established  it  in 
tranquility  and  justice  and  the  art  of  war  hath  long 
been  disused.  Think  not  that  age  hath  of  necessity 
sapped  they  power,  for  did  not  my  countryman 
Nestor,  having  already  survived  two  generations 
of  men,  acquit  himself  with  valor  in  the  great  war? 
But  of  one  thing  be  admonished,  I  pray  thee,  by  me, 


THE          LAYMAN         REVATO 


though  I  am  but  a  child.  For  I  have  traveled  across 
the  countries  of  the  world  in  journeying  from  mine  to 
thine;  and  as  I  passed  through  I  saw  them  filled  with 
vast  armies  constantly  habituated  by  warlike  kings 
to  hard  campaigns.  Especially  on  the  borders  of  the 
fair-haired  Saka  barbarians,  which  are  not  far  from 
thine  own,  were  many  alarms  and  rumors  of  invasion 
by  those  innumerable  cruel  tribesmen.  The  long 
peace  of  this  land  cannot  endure  forever.  The 
natural  law  of  nations  is  to  conquer  or  to  be  con 
quered.  Thou  art  prepared  neither  to  attack  nor  to 
defend.  Before  thee  are  two  futures:  to  preserve  an 
empire  as  magnificent  as  Alexander's  or  to  see  it 
swept  away." 

Then  Piyadassi  answered  her: 

"  It  was  Jino,  lady,  Jino  the  greatest  of  Conquerors, 
who  declared  that  while  one  remaineth  in  a  dwelling 
he  may  subdue  the  earth  without  rod  or  sword, 
he  may  rule  in  justice.  But  should  this  yet  fail,  did 
not  the  same  Blessed  One  also  say: 

"  'Alas  for  life,  by  nature  evanescent, 
Concrete  of  properties  which  wax  and  wane; 
They  all  arise,  they  all  return  quiescent — 
But  their  allayment  is  our  utter  gain.'" 

"O  Great  King,  bear  with  me  still,"  cried  Prote. 
"If  the  glory  of  thine  empire  be  nothing  in  thine 
eyes,  yet  is  not  the  progress  of  thy  Religion?  Is 
not  the  consolation  that  it  bringeth  to  its  devotees, 
is  not  the  mercy  which  it  hath  in  store  for  all 
beings?" 

"If  a  downfall  be  indeed  at  hand,  bhagini,  sister, 
yet  will  this  be  better  than  that  it  should  be  averted 
by  unrighteousness.  Did  not  the  Blessed  One  foretell 
that  defection  from  the  Perfect  Way  must  come  and 
that  it  would  be  brought  about  by  the  agency  of 
women?  The  Saddhamma  eradicated  by  force  may 
again  take  root,  but  if  decayed  from  within  it  must 
perish.  How  can  I  seek  to  perpetuate  the  religion 
of  mildness  by  deeds  or  threats  of  violence  which  are 
contrary  to  its  nature,  and  in  the  very  doing  of  which 
that  religion  would  cease  to  exist?  Thou  and  I  are 
not  accountable  for  the  results  of  the  Holy  Law,  but 
for  obedience  to  it.  Had  we  perfect  wisdom  like  the 
Clarified  One,  then  perchance  we  might  study  remote 
ends,  but  short-sighted  mortals,  as  we  are,  we  must 
adhere  to  the  precepts  which  he  taught  us,  especially 
to  the  principle  of  kindness.  Thus  will  the  most  good 
kamma  be  sown,  the  most  beneficent  energy  will  be 
generated." 

"By  thy  mercy,  O  Piyadassi,  endure  my  speech 
yet  a  little  longer.  I  am  about  to  tell  thee  what  no 
one  else  hath  dared  to  whisper  to  thee.  Thou  wilt  be 
amazed  at  my  boldness,  but  I  entrust  myself  to  thy 
clemency.  Hast  thou  suspected  that  thy  throne  and 
Religion  are  both  in  danger,  not  only  from  foreign 
foes,  but  from  traitors  among  thine  own  kindred? 
Here  is  no  question  of  great  military  preparation, 
but  of  quick,  decisive,  and  therefore  merciful, 
action." 


Then  Asoko,  answering  her,  recited  this  gatha: 

"  'Wonder-sweet  our  dwellings  be, 
Girt  by  anger,  anger-free; 
Angry  folk  around  us  press; 
Live  we  always  angerless.'  " 

He  repeated  also  the  stanza: 

"  'Vanquish  wrath  by  harmless  living, 
And  with  goodness  conquer  sin; 
Men  of  greed  by  open  giving, 
False  of  word  by  candour  win.'  " 

When  therefore  he  had  uttered  these  verses  he 
continued  in  speech  as  follows: 

"In  the  ninth  year  of  my  reign  I  conquered  the 
Kalingas  with  great  slaughter  for  which  I  have  ever 
since  felt  deep  regret,  sorrow  and  remorse.  All  men 
are  my  children,  and  just  as  I  desire  for  my  children 
that  they  may  enjoy  every  kind  of  prosperity  and 
happiness,  both  in  this  world  and  the  next,  so  also 
I  desire  for  all  men.  Even  upon  the  unsubdued 
borderers  and  forest  folk  in  my  dominions  I  have 
compassion  and  will  that  they  be  not  afraid  of  me, 
but  that  they  should  trust  me  and  should  receive 
from  me  happiness,  not  sorrow.  This,  in  my 
opinion,  is  the  chiefest  conquest — the  conquest  by 
the  Law  of  Righteousness.  By  that  law  I  con 
quered  both  in  my  dominions  and  in  far  distant 
Western  realms,  even  to  that  of  Antiyako*  Yono, 
and  beyond  to  where  reigned  the  four  kings  Tura- 
mayo,  Antlkini,  Mago  and  Alasando.  I  will  that 
my  heirs  on  the  throne  and  as  many  as  come  after 
me  may  not  suppose  it  to  be  their  duty  to  effect  a 
new  conquest  by  arms,  and  that,  even  if  they  be 
come  engaged  in  a  new  conquest,  they  may  find 
pleasure  in  patience  and  gentleness,  and  may  regard 
as  the  only  true  conquest  that  effected  through  the 
Law  of  Piety  which  avails  both  for  this  world  and 
the  next.  But  if  they  fail  to  walk  in  the  way  of  fore- 
bearance,  it  will  be  the  fruit  of  my  own  bad  example, 
when  I  subjugated  the  Kalingas.  And  if  still  the 
effect  of  that  bad  example  can  be  overcome,  it  will 
only  be  by  setting  an  example  of  meekness  in  such 
time  as  yet  remains  to  me.  And  I  have  come  to  realize 
that,  however  great  be  the  importance  of  creating 
happiness  in  this  world,  nothing  is  of  supreme 
importance  save  the  concerns  of  the  World  to  Come. 
For  me  all  things  are  now  past,  are  ended,  have  van 
ished  away.  Impermanent  are  composed  things; 
untrustworthy  are  composed  things.  It  is  meet  to 
be  weary  of,  it  is  meet  to  be  estranged  from,  it  is 
meet  to  be  set  quite  free  from  the  bondage  of  all 
composed  things." 

Having  completed  this  declaration,  he  said:  "I 
am  faint,  bhadde,  dear  lady,  from  want  of  food.  For 
my  sake  it  matters  naught,  but  I  must  sustain  my 
strength  yet  a  little  while  longer  for  the  good  of  my 
people,  who  are  my  children.  I  must  now  hasten 
home  to  eat  of  the  alms  in  my  bowl." 

*Antiochus  of  Syria,  Ptolemy  of  Egypt,  Antigonos  (Gonatas) 
of  Macedonia,  Magas  of  Cyrene  and  Alexander  of  Epirus. 


[73] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"Deign,  O  thou  Holy  one,  to  dine  here,"  entreated 
Prote,  "as  they  say  the  Blessed  One  feasted  on 
sweet  dishes  of  boiled  rice  and  cakes,  here  in  this 
town,  with  Sunidho  and  Vassakaro  and  in  Vesali 
with — with  Ambapali." 

"I  cannot  tarry,  dear  girl,  but  place  if  thou 
will'st  a  morsel  of  rice  in  the  bowl,  for  space  re- 
maineth." 

Into  the  courtyard  the  noonday  sun  was  shining 
and  the  pillars  on  the  eastern  side  were  just  beginning 
to  cast  a  shadow.  Piyadassi  saw  the  shadow  and 
said  calmly: 

"It  is  now  past  mid-day  and  too  late  for  the 
bhatta — the  meal.  I  must  not  break  my  fast  with 
solid  food  until  to-morrow.  Keep,  I  pray  thee, 
dhite,  the  food  in  this  bowl  for  them  who  suffer  by 
its  lack.  I  will  take  only  a  draught  of  rice  milk, 
highly  praised  by  the  Blessed  One. — Handa  ca  dani 
mayang  gacchama — Now  then,  I  must  be  going." 

Thus  saying,  and  declining  every  proffer  of 
assistance  that  Revato  dared  to  make,  the  royal 
bhikkhu  departed  as  he  had  come. 

Said  Revato:  "Farewell,  Prote." 

"Why  farewell  in  this  hasty  fashion,  Revato? 
You  have  not  yet  disclosed  what  brought  you  here." 

"That  which  brought  you  here  now  carries  me 
away,"  he  answered,  and  without  more  words 
returned  to  his  lodging. 

Hastily  he  packed  into  a  bundle  the  requisites  of 
his  journey  and,  after  summoning  a  porter  from  the 
neighboring  street,  took  his  way  to  the  chief  cara 
vansary  of  the  city.  Here,  upon  inquiry,  he  learned 
that  a  halted  party  of  traders  was  preparing  to  press 
on  toward  Rajagaha  that  afternoon,  among  them 
being  Subhaddo  of  Alavi,  the  woolen  merchant,  who 
was  amicably  known  to  him.  His  own  equipage, 
with  Pilindavaccho  and  the  steers,  was  still  quartered 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  having  been  held  during 
the  fortnights  through  which  he  had  daily  been 
representing  to  himself  that  he  was  about  to  return. 
He  could  not  have  told  why  he  attached  it  to  the 
slow  caravan — hardly  for  reasons  of  safety  from 
robbers;  perhaps  to  ensure  morally  the  continuance, 
if  not  the  speed,  of  his  homeward  journey. 

A  brief  interval  before  departure  afforded  time 
for  a  parting  call  on  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo  at 
the  Cock  Garden  Monastery. 

"Where  is  the  Yonaki  woman?"  asked  the  old 
samana.  "Why  did  you  not  bring  her  with  you  this 
time?". 

"Reproach  me  not,  bhante,"  said  Revato.  "All 
that  is  ended." 

"I  do  not  reproach  you,  my  son,"  replied  Bharad 
vajo,  "I  could  not  help  being  glad  to  see  you  happy 
even  when  I  knew  that  your  pleasure  was  bitterness 
in  disguise." 

"You  cannot  be  more  deeply  aware  of  that  fact 
than  I  am,"  answered  Revato. 

"Very  good.  This  is  grateful  news  to  me,  and  it 
will  be  welcome  tidings  to  King  Asoko  also." 


"King  Asoko!  Does  he  concern  himself  with  my 
personal  affairs?" 

"He  knows  you  better  than  you  know  yourself; 
we  have  spoken  about  you  much  of  late." 

"Why,  bhante,  as  well  as  I  have  been  acquainted 
with  you  all  my  life,  I  have  never  suspected  that 
you  were  privileged  to  such  intimacy  with  royalty." 

Asoko's  condescending  goodness  was  thus  brought 
home  to  Revato  in  a  new  light.  It  rilled  him  with 
wonder  and  contrition  to  learn  that  he,  individually, 
was  embraced  by  the  comprehensive,  yet  specific 
solicitude  put  forth  by  that  earthly  lord  of  salvation. 

After  Revato  had  left  the  Kukkutarama,  as  his 
attention  reverted  to  the  merchant  caravan  with 
which  he  was  to  travel,  an  association  of  ideas 
recalled  to  his  mind,  with  a  twinge,  that  purpose  for 
which  he  had  come  to  Rajagaha — the  resignation  of 
his  tariff  collectorship.  Any  present  painfulness  of 
this  subject  was  from  habit  rather  than  from  distinct 
perception  of  the  reasons  for  its  dolor.  Its  intricate 
details  had  so  long  remained  dormant  that  he  could 
not  readily  reawaken  them  in  memory.  He  won 
dered  whether  now  before  quitting  the  city  he 
should  not  seek  the  King  again  and  lay  down  his 
office,  but  as  nearly  as  he  could  remember,  the  last 
oscillation  of  his  mind  when  the  matter  had  been 
under  careful  consideration  had  opposed  this  action. 
Upon  now  reopening  the  question,  he  might  gradu 
ally  have  recalled  his  former  arguments  and  brought 
them  to  a  different  conclusion,  at  the  same  time 
renewing  his  distinct  comprehension  of  his  unes- 
capable  difficulties,  but  he  was  not  fated  to  restore 
their  place  in  his  attention  at  this  period.  The  gen 
eral  remorse  and  abasement  into  which  he  was 
plunged  afforded  no  foothold  for  any  specific  grief 
or  apprehension. 

Revato  took  his  way  from  the  city  past  the 
Rativaddhana  garden,  as  upon  the  night  of  his 
arrival.  Once  more  he  tossed  into  the  pond  his  gem 
graven  with  the  Greek  girl,  satisfying  himself  that 
this  time  it  lodged  upon  no  lotus  flower,  but  sank 
among  their  tangled  roots  in  the  greedy  mud.  Con 
siderations  of  filial  duty,  which  before  had  reproved 
him  for  his  act,  made  now  no  protest,  since  the  moral 
necessity  of  repudiating  all  that  the  image  stood 
for  was  indisputably  paramount. 

He  joined  the  caravan  and,  at  nightfall,  was  ad 
vanced  on  the  way  toward  Rajagaha.  When  they 
reached  a  certain  point  on  the  road,  he  alighted  and 
walked  into  an  open  field  near  at  hand.  There  were 
the  remains  of  a  fire  now  almost  overgrown  with 
fresh  weeds,  among  which  he  descried  some  charred 
bones  from  a  corpse  which  had  been  consumed  upon 
it — after  what  form  of  death  he  knew. 

Upon  overtaking  his  companions,  and  riding  on 
a  little  while,  he  heard  beside  him  a  familiar  whine. 
It  was  Dukkho,  his  dog,  in  a  starving  condition. 

"Kahang  bhane  tumhe  ime  divase  na  dissatha?" 
he  called  down  languidly,  "Where  in  the  world  hast 
thou  been  not  to  show  thyself  all  these  days?  Art 
thou  following  me  once  more?  Why  didst  thou  de- 


[74] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


sert  me?  Because  I  deserted  thee,  eh?  Very  well, 
we  will  forgive  each  other  and  forget  the  past  with  a 
mutual  promise  never  again  to  part." 

So  the  dog,  keeping  close  to  Revato,  followed  him 
home  and  into  the  house  with  perfect  assurance  of 
domicile. 

Sundarl,  his  mother,  did  not  take  kindly  to  the 
creature,  which  was  caused  less  by  aversion  to  dogs 


in  general  than  by  an  intuitive  antipathy  for  this 
individual. 

"You  must  not  let  him  stay  here,  Revato,"  she 
said. 

"He  intends  to  remain,"  replied  Revato  solemnly, 
"and  it  is  neither  in  your  power  nor  in  mine  to  thwart 
his  purpose." 

Dukkho  remained. 


CHAPTER  XII 
A  VISION  OF  DEATH 


THE  PLUCKED  OUT  EYE 

In  the  olden  days  of  simple  doctrine  and  conse 
crated  life,  there  dwelt  at  Rajagaha  a  Sister  in  the 
Bhikkhunisangha,  named  Subha,  who  was  young 
and  lovely  to  behold.  As  this  nun  was  entering  one 
day  alone  into  the  shady  solitude  of  JIvako's  Mango 
Grove,  a  gallant  intercepted  her,  as  is  related  in  the 
ancient  ballad: 

Hithermore  the  woodland  whiling 

(Votive  park  of  Jivako), 
One  to  Subha  came  beguiling, 

In  her  pathway  to  and  fro. 

This  diffident  maiden  answered  him: 

"How  provoked  I  thee  to  linger, 

Making  my  transgression  much? 
Buddho's  daughter's  every  finger 

Must  be  consecrate  from  touch. 

"All  my  heart  is  in  attending 

His,  the  perfect  Master's  will. 
Pure  am  I  and  unoffending; 

Why  obstruct  my  pathway  still?" 

But  the  lover  persisted,  cajoling  her: 

"Young  and  innocent,  why  sadly 

Cling  to  hermits'  garb  and  food? 
Come  with  me,  and  we  go  gladly 

Wandering  in  the  flowery  wood. 

"Odorous  buds  are  scattering  madly, 

Yea,  the  Springtime  hours  are  good! 
Come  with  me,  and  we  go  gladly 

Wandering  in  the  flowery  wood. 

"Ripple  soft  the  pointed  grasses, 

High  above  the  boughs  are  blown; 
Doleful  yet  is  she  who  passes 

Through  the  woodland  aisles  alone." 

Then  he  strove  to  break  her  purpose  by  artful 
change  of  appeal: 

"Tigers  lurk,  unapprehended, 

Furious  elephants,  my  child, 
Where  thou  goest  undefended, 

Through  that  vast  and  fearful  wild." 

But  since  danger  had  no  terrors  for  Subha,  or 
else  because  she  was  reasonably  skeptical  of  those 

[75] 


wild  beasts  in  the  urban  Mango  Grove,  this  vil- 
lian  reverted  to  his  vein  of  enticement  and 
flattery: 

"Like  a  golden  angel  maiden, 

Denizen  of  Paradise, 
Should  thy  beauty  be  arrayed  in 

Kasi  robes  of  costly  price. 

"  'Mid  these  leaves  of  languorous  motion, 

May  thine  utmost  wish  unfurl; 
Thou  art  worthy  my  devotion 

More  than  any  goddess  girl. 

"If  thou  wilt  attend  my  saying, 

Lofty  mansions  I'll  prepare, 
Damsel  servitors  arraying 

Towers  and  chambers  high  in  air. 

"Gems  and  jewels  I  will  find  thee, 

Lustrous,  dazzling  to  behold; 
Filmy  Kasi  webs  shall  wind  thee, 

Pearl-encrusted,  barred  with  gold." 

Subha  again  indignantly  interrupted  him: 

"Where  is  any  charm  exalting 

In  this  corpse  of  vile  decay, 
Unenduring,  dead,  revolting, 

As  it  slowly  rots  away?" 


Her  beau,  however,  was  at  no 
such  charms: 


to  point  out 


"Eyes,  the  soft  gazelle  beseeming, 

Yea,  like  oreads'  of  the  hill; 
As  with  mine  I  watch  them  gleaming, 

Love  and  longing  wax  and  thrill. 

"In  thy  face,  those  eyes,  unfolding 

Like  an  aureate  lotus  flower, 
Still  with  mine  I  stand  beholding; 

Love  and  longing  wax  in  power." 

The  girl  was  now  aroused  to  vehement  protest: 

"Groping  in  a  trackless  thicket, 

Meru's  top  o'erleaping  wild, 
Snatching  at  the  moon  to  pick  it — 

So  thou  temptest  Buddho's  child! 

"Nay,  my  soul  is  free  from  craving — 
Earth  and  Heaven  attest  its  void — 

Long  it  grew,  but  since  my  saving, 
Root  and  all  have  been  destroyed." 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


Her  mind  was  fortified,  she  assured  him,  by 
recognizing  in  every  living  substance  its  necessary 
corruption  and  vanity. 

"In  beguilement,  in  revilement, 

Pleased  or  pained,  I  recollect: 
Foul  is  matter;  its  defilement 

Keeps  the  conscious  heart  unflecked. 

"Like  a  mural-drawn  depiction, 

Bright  in  ochre  tints  defined, 
Such  is  that  befooling  fiction 

Which  we  know  as  humankind. 

"Bubble-round  these  orbs,  and  sphery, 

Lodged  as  in  tree-hollows  lie; 
Filth  exuding,  slimy,  teary, 

Homogenic  with  the  eye. 

"Though  I  gouge  this  eye  and  cast  it, 

Undefiled  my  soul  shall  stand; 
Take  it,"  cried  she;  "Here,  thou  hast  it" — 

Plucked  and  placed  it  in  his  hand. 

Straightway  the  beguiler,  with  passion  quenched, 
contrite  and  remorseful,  craved  of  this  nun  her 
forgiveness : 

"As  I  hold  a  blazing  ember 

Or  a  serpent,"  stammered  he, 
"So  this  maid  will  I  remember. 

Hast  thou  grace  to  pardon  me?" 

Forthwith,  delivered  from  her  peril,  Subha  betook 
herself  to  the  excellent  Buddho  and,  as  the  old  ballad 
will  have  it,  when  she  beheld  him  in  his  character  of 
exceeding  virtue,  her  eye  was  restored  fair  as  it  had 
been  at  first. 

"Better,"  said  the  Lord  of  the  Dhamma  on 
another  occasion,  "that  thou  burn  out  thine  eye  with 
a  glowing  steel  and  that  thou  gaze  no  more  upon  the 
things  which  are  visible.  Shall  it  indeed  be  burned 
out  with  glowing  steel?  This  only  do  I  declare: 
Transitory  is  the  eye,  transitory  is  that  which  it  looks 
upon." 

It  lay  in  store  for  Revato,  under  the  second  moon 
after  his  return  home  from  Pataliputta,  to  make  as 
painful  a  rejection  of  his  right  to  behold.  His  house 
was  not  situated  on  the  great  highway  where  cara 
vans  and  pilgrims  passed  continually,  but  on  a  little 
frequented  road  which  led  into  the  forested  moun 
tains.  Strange  passers-by  were  therefore  a  sight 
which  always  attracted  attention. 

On  a  certain  evening  Revato  had  returned  from 
the  customs  office  and  was  eating  his  meal  in  a  back 
room  of  the  house,  while  Sundarl,  his  mother,  was 
sitting  in  the  front  door  to  enjoy  the  breeze  that  drew 
down  the  valley. 

Suddenly  she  called  to  him: 

"Revato,  come  quickly  and  look." 

"What  is  there  to  see,  Mother?"  he  answered. 

"The  most  goodly  company  that  has  ever  come 
our  way,"  she  exclaimed  in  delight.  "I  cannot  be 
mistaken;  they  are  Yonakas." 

"Are  they  men  or  women,  Mother?" 

"Men,"  Sundarl  answered,  "and  two  women. 
One  of  them  is  riding  under  a  canopy  on  a  fiercely 


dashing  elephant,  which  is  anxious  to  keep  ahead  of 
all  the  rest,  and  she  evidently  enjoys  the  excitement. 
She  is  young  and  beautiful  and  looks  just  like  the 
image  on  the  carved  stone  that  you  are  cherishing. 
Come  and  see  if  it  is  not  so.  Hurry  up,  Revato,  or 
you  will  be  too  late." 

Revato  made  no  movement. 

"Hurry  up,  I  say,"  reiterated  his  mother.  "To 
see  them  makes  me  young  again." 

With  a  semblance  of  dutiful  compliance,  Revato 
came  finally  to  the  door,  after  having  allowed  time 
for  the  procession  to  pass  around  an  obscuring  bend 
of  the  road.  The  tail  of  the  last  elephant  which 
carried  servants  and  baggage  was  all  that  he  beheld 
of  that  Yonaka  train. 

"They  must  be  converts,"  said  his  mother,  "who 
have  come  on  a  pilgrimage  to  reverence  at  the  sacred 
places  in  our  mountains.  As  if  a  religion  which  could 
make  such  noble  people  were  not  good  enough  for 
them!" 

"It  is  more  likely  that  they  are  lumber  prospectors 
who  have  combined  their  business  errand  with  a 
junketing  trip,"  answered  Revato  with  violent 
indifference  of  tone,  but  he  did  not  state  his  grounds 
for  that  opinion. 

Thus,  in  the  spoliation  of  vision,  had  Revato's 
wound  been  heroically  self-inflicted.  But  the  first, 
sudden,  sharp  experience  of  an  injury  is  a  small 
matter;  it  is  the  after  inflammation  that  agonizes, 
and  especially  a  fresh  irritation  of  the  sore.  All 
this  he  was  required  to  bear  during  and  after  the 
visit  of  Prote  to  Rajagaha.  He  knew  that  she  was 
probably  sojourning  in  his  immediate  neighborhood, 
where  he  readily  could  find  her  at  any  time  and 
receive  a  gracious  welcome.  Yet  he  must  not  seek 
her;  he  must  rather  shun  chance  meeting,  must 
stay  away  from  the  custom  house,  must  avoid,  if 
possible,  even  learning  by  gossip  of  her  whereabouts 
and  movements. 

Yet  in  this  self-mortification,  worthy  of  the  most 
fanatical  Brahmin — he  was  conscious  of  no  merit, 
but  rather  of  bitterness  in  heart.  He  felt  that  some 
of  the  motives  actuating  him  were  paltry  and 
wicked,  as  namely  a  hankering  to  foster  self-pity. 

Such  a  spirit  is  widely  diffused  in  the  human 
breast  and  varies  greatly  in  its  morbid  manifesta 
tions.  It  is  suggested  in  the  restless  fingers  which 
continually  linger  about  an  open  sore,  and  it  has  led 
to  extremities  of  physical  self-torture,  but  it  also  is 
to  be  observed  in  more  refined,  psychical  manifesta 
tions. 

Once,  when  Revato  was  a  little  boy,  the  Venerable 
Bharadvajo  had  made  him  a  whistle  and  he,  in 
caprice,  had  intentionally  broken  it.  The  old  monk 
had  then  replaced  it  by  another,  little  guessing  the 
true  situation  and  unable  from  his  own  inward 
workings  to  comprehend  such  refined  morbidity, 
even  had  it  been  declared  to  him.  The  mood  thus 
early  arisen  in  the  lad's  mind  was  virtually  a  desire 
for  pathos  in  his  own  behalf.  Such  a  spirit  pre 
supposes  in  ourselves  dependency  upon  a  guardian 


[76] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


who  will  right  our  wrongs  for  us  and  humor  our 
vagaries.  When  we  grow  older  and  are  cast  into  the 
sea  of  life  to  swim  for  ourselves  or  sink,  this  feeling 
becomes  grotesquely  foolish.  Still  it  may  persist,  as 
persists  to  the  day  of  our  death  the  conviction  that 
there  is  a  human  paternity  somewhere  to  look  after 
us  if  we  fail  to  look  after  ourselves;  as  persists  also  a 
craving  for  tolerant  spiritual  directorship  which  will 
relieve  us  from  fidelity  to  our  own  consciences. 

Such  faults  were  woven  into  Revato's  nature  like  a 
tape  worm  in  the  stomach  of  a  sheep,  and  beside 
many  others  of  greater  complexity,  they  were 
blended  with  better  instincts  to  right  living.  He 
candidly  acknowledged  to  himself  that  his  outward 
rectitude  was  supported  upon  a  structure  of  diverse 
unprecedented  reasons  which  was  rotten  in  several 
of  its  members. 

The  self-pitying  instinct  in  Revato  was  brought 
to  its  most  violent  exertion  when  he  met  Prote  face  to 
face  and  avoided  addressing  her.  It  was  a  sudden, 
unexpected  encounter  in  JIvako's  mango  grove, 
where  she  was  walking  attended  only  by  her  maid 
lasis.  He  turned  into  a  by-path  before  she  had  time 
to  accost  him,  but  for  an  instant  their  eyes  had  met 
and  she  could  not  have  doubted  his  recognition. 
The  affront  was  so  evident  that  she  refrained  from 
calling  to  him,  as  no  doubt  she  would  have  done 
had  she  believed  his  slight  unintentional. 

By  this  act  Revato  felt  that  he  had  irretrievably 
cut  himself  off  from  the  recent  past  and  from  any 
future  that  might  have  been  linked  to  it.  The 
conscious  discourtesy,  the  unkindness,  the  ingrati 
tude  of  his  behavior  overwhelmed  him  with  shame. 
It  was  that  shame  which  his  ideals  of  renunciation 
required  him  to  bear,  yet  in  which  renunciation  he 
was  deprived  of  spiritual  reward,  because  he  yielded 
the  while  to  an  unwholesome  sorrow  for  himself  and 
had  incited  himself  to  his  deed  partly  by  a  desire  to 
cause  that  sorrow. 

THE  GREATER  CONSIDERATIONS 

However,  if  Revato's  moral  motives  contained 
unworthy  elements,  there  were  also  good  ones, 
according  to  the  peculiar  standards  of  his  religion, 
and  otherwise.  He  brought  to  bear  the  salutary 
arguments  of  death  and  decay.  From  a  child  he  had 
willingly  lived  in  a  wakefulness  to  those  facts  which 
most  people  endeavor  not  to  realize  until  they  are 
brought  close  to  the  end  of  life. 

Dissolution  was  ever  going  on  in  his  mind.  Not 
far  from  his  home  lay  an  old  cemetery,  or  charnal 
ground,  where  the  remnants  of  burned  corpses  were 
thrown  and  others  placed  whole  to  rot.  It  had  been 
the  child  Revato's  playground  and  its  scattered 
bones  his  toys.  No  need  to  remind  him  of  the 
monkish  dhutanga  virtue  of  sosanikanga,  the  exercise 
of  dwelling  in  mortuary  proximity  and  contempla 
tion.  He  failed  not  of  padkdna,  exertion.  When 
Prote's  image  now  arose  in  his  fancy,  he  transmuted 
it  into  a  dead  body;  he  pondered  on  putrifaction  as 
the  natural  state  of  those  concretions  whose  sound 


ness  and  beauty  were  impermanent,  evanescent, 
transitory. 

But  it  would  discredit  the  dignity  of  Revato's 
mental  condition  to  assume  that  Prote  was  the 
circumference,  as  well  as  the  centre,  of  his  circle. 
His  ponderings  dealt  with  solemn  matters  compared 
with  which  woman  was  a  trifle.  Though  she  might 
be  the  most  tantalizing  of  any  single  allurement, 
there  were  facts  before  him  that  overrode  the  power 
of  feminine  attraction. 

More  difficult  to  cope  with  even  than  Prote's 
memory,  was  a  yearning  toward  the  world  she 
typified,  a  world  whose  magnificent  qualities  he 
could  not  ignore  and  which  he  had  vainly  striven  to 
fit  into  an  appropriate  place  in  his  own  universe.  Her 
earth  indubitably  fostered  the  highest  type  of  man 
kind  from  a  cultural  point  of  view.  Rough-shod 
ambition  was  indispensable  to  its  attainment. 
But  if  there  was  any  truth  in  Buddho's  teaching, 
such  ambition  was  pernicious.  Where  then  lay  the 
fallacy?  Were  the  objects  of  Yonaka  striving  good 
or  bad  ? 

They  led,  he  reflected,  to  extremes  both  of  happi 
ness  and  of  suffering.  Diomedes  had  contended  that 
the  former  more  than  compensated  for  the  latter. 
Was  he  right? 

No — and  here  the  light  broke  into  Revato's  mind 
— intensity  of  joy  was  not  a  requital  for  intensity  of 
anguish.  Both  were  evils,  the  sorrow  as  a  present 
calamity,  the  worldly  joy  because  of  its  seductive 
effect  upon  the  character. 

Over  Revato  the  Dhamma  would  have  had  little 
power  had  it  treated  the  questions  of  suffering  and 
death  by  ignoring  them,  by  diverting  attention  to 
more  cheerful  subjects.  To  those  who  have  learned 
the  secret  of  sorrow,  there  is  no  real  encouragement 
other  than  through  a  full  recognition  of  its  truth. 
In  sadness  is  their  only  comfort  and  the  via  dolorosa 
is  their  only  path  to  peace. 

Revato's  endeavor  to  quiet  his  hunger  for  things — 
things  typified  by  those  of  the  Ionian  world — was 
not  without  indications  of  success.  He  had  caught 
glimpses  of  a  vision  which  for  its  clear  beholder  has 
the  power  of  a  blessed  living  death. 

There  were  some  in  Ariya  Land  who  taught  that 
the  universe  is  .substantiated  only  by  illusion  and 
who  ended  their  philosophy  in  a  sense  of  utter 
nothingness.  This  was  the  goal  of  one  of  the  highest 
Attainments  in  the  meditations  of  the  Buddhist  sage. 
Others,  but  not  of  that  faith,  fixing  their  gaze  upon 
the  Eternal  Spirit,  became  stone  blind  to  the  tem 
poral.  In  either  case,  they  and  the  world  had  recip 
rocally  ceased  to  exist,  they  had  entered  that  state 
of  Nibbana  which  is  possible  even  before  the  ele 
ments  of  terrestrial  life  are  dissolved. 

Fortunate,  Revato  admitted,  it  was  for  the 
world's  system  (fortunate  either  for  better  or  for 
worse)  that  the  enlightened  were  few  in  number. 
To  keep  the  earth's  wheels  turning  quietly,  illusion 
was  an  indispensable  lubricant.  Life  was  based 
upon  self-deceit  and  shortsightedness,  upon  miscon- 


[77] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


ception  of  the  near  and  imperception  of  the  far. 
Were  it  not  so,  there  would  have  been  no  effort,  no 
progress.  Calculation  of  results  disarmed  courage; 
estimation  of  probabilities  crippled  hope;  vision  of 
injustice  paralyzed  action;  insight  of  realities 
reversed  desire.  Life  understood  became  life 
impossible — but  rarely  it  was  understood.  Men 
continued  to  be  cajoled  by  caressing  pleasures  of  the 
hour,  or  they  were  stimulated  by  expectations  of  the 
next  hour,  and  if,  when  the  next  hour  came,  the 
anticipated  enjoyment  was  deferred,  they  merely 
postponed  it  to  the  next,  and  the  next,  and  so  on  till 
the  end  of  their  days.  Those  a  little  nobler  minded 
fastened  their  eyes  upon  some  coming  perfection  of 
society,  which  equally  proved  a  mirage.  Thus  the 
lowest  by  illusions  of  sense,  the  higher  by  delusions 
of  hope,  were  nourished  on  emptiness.  The  few 
who  had  apprehended  the  High  must  starve. 

The  conviction  of  terrestrial  nothingness  was  for 
Revato  neither  a  metaphysical  hypothesis  nor  a 
Theistic  emotion.  He  had  no  controlling  belief  in 
the  idealistic  philosophy  clearly  enunciated  in  the 
Vedanta  and  frequently  upspringing,  if  not  deeply 
rooted,  in  his  own  religion.  Neither  could  he  follow 
the  Vedantist  devotees  into  any  vivid,  emotional 
experience  of  a  Divine,  Pervasive  Person.  But  his 
mind  was  able  to  make  judicial  comparison  of  time 
and  Eternity  in  their  importance,  a  dispassionate 
judgment  which  resulted  in  passionate  conviction. 
When,  unexpectedly,  in  the  dead  of  night,  perhaps  in 
starting  up  from  a  dream,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
future  and  all  that  it  involves,  the  present  shrank 
to  such  dimensions  as  if  not  existing  at  all;  as  if  no 
pain  or  sacrifice  here  and  now  was  of  any  consequence 
whatever.  Beside  these  brilliant  flashes  of  alarm, 
there  were  others,  less  coruscant,  of  wonder.  Like 
the  sunlight,  defused  and  deadened  by  impending 
haze,  so  that  the  disk  of  the  orb  is  invisible  yet  its 
effects  pervading,  he  beheld  the  emanations  from 
that  Substance  in  which  is  comprised  the  Answer. 

Fleeting  as  were  his  visions  of  living  death,  im 
possible  as  it  was  to  sustain  the  intensity  of  emotion 
that  they  produced,  their  effects  lasted  over  the 
intervals  between  them.  If  the  awe  of  the  Infinite 
did  not  extinguish  the  finite,  at  least  a  dread  of  the 
endless  annihilated  the  transitory.  Earth  had 
dwindled  to  non-entity. 

In  his  memory  lingered  a  fragment  which  Di- 
omedes  had  read  him  from  the  last  words  of  a  Yonaka 
muni  condemned  to  death:  "Is  the  deep  mediation 
of  the  Enlightened  One  anything  else  than  separation 
of  the  soul  from  the  body?  And  is  not  this  to  die, 
for  the  body  to  be  apart  by  itself,  separated  from  the 
soul,  and  for  the  soul  to  subsist  apart  by  itself 
separated  from  the  body?  Is  death  anything  else 
than  this?"  Feelings  worthy  of  an  Arahat!  How 
different  this  serene  detachment  from  Revato's  own! 

And  yet,  he  pondered,  were  these  no  real  values 
even  in  life?  Was  there  nothing  intrinsically  worthy 
of  endeavor? — Refreshment  in  Nature?  Truth  dis 


covery?  Beauty  perception?  Beauty  creation? 
Approbation  of  just  men?  Approval  of  conscience? 
Yes,  these  were  good  when  related  to  the  life  that 
ends  in  Eternal  Rest,  which  implied  that  they  were 
bad  as  properties  of  the  life  that  was  hostile  to  it. 
Was  it  then  inherently  wrong  to  receive  joy  from 
such  delights  even  in  their  earthly  relations?  Per 
haps  not  wrong  if  they  came  as  joys  unsought,  as 
by-products  of  self-discipline,  but  in  any  case 
extremely  dangerous. 

The  quest  for  knowledge,  for  truth — was  that  also 
perverse?  Did  not  Buddho  open  his  mind  wide  to 
all  wisdom  "that  leadeth  not  to  sin"?  Yes,  but  it 
was  said  also  of  the  Saint  that  "he  is  no  follower  of 
philosophical  views,  nor  a  friend  of  knowledge;  he  is 
indifferent  to  learning  while  others  acquire  it." 
Therefore,  Revato  inferred,  even  truth  was  an 
unworthy  object  of  search  if  one  were  prompted  by 
the  cravings  of  a  selfish  curiosity. 

Self-conquest  was  best  aided,  not  by  tapa,  fiery 
trial,  as  the  Brahmin  ascetics  contended,  but,  as  the 
Master  had  sanely  pointed  out,  by  freedom  from 
the  thralldom  of  sensations,  whether  of  delight  or  of 
agony.  If  even  the  voluntary  sufferings  of  the 
devotee  were  futile,  how  much  more  deplorable  was 
the  great  mass  of  human  and  animal  misery  that 
came  unbidden!  Contentment  in  plain,  wholesome 
things — that  was  the  true  philosophy  of  life,  the 
"Middle  Way"  of  Buddho. 

There  remained  then  one  object  of  striving  which, 
even  physically,  was  right  and  good — the  lessening 
of  anguish.  In  the  discernment  of  philosophic  altru 
ism  was  scope  for  the  boldest  speculations,  most 
logical  deductions.  In  the  assuagement  of  world 
wide  anguish,  in  all  artful  works  that  might  tend  to 
such  alleviation,  lay  ample  opportunity  for  every 
man's  strongest  powers.  Thus,  while  jealously 
avoiding  all  promotion  of  high  aesthetics,  the  fur 
therance  of  humble  ease  opened  unlimited  fields  for 
enterprise  in  politics,  law,  science,  industry,  and 
what  not.  Trifles  as  these  things  might  be  by  com 
parison  with  Eternity,  in  themselves  they  were 
absolute. 

To  Revato  was  now  ever  present  a  corporeal 
reminder  of  those  great  departments  of  the  sentient 
world  which  lie  outside  of  humanity,  though  closely 
affiliated  and,  as  his  doctrine  taught,  reciprocally 
transmutable  with  it.  Dukkho  was  now  his  con 
stant  attendant,  a  melancholy  companion  who, 
throughout  the  dog's  own  waking  and  even  sleeping 
moments,  evidenced  himself  by  frequent  low  whines 
which  seemed  uncalled  for  by  circumstances.  A 
close  sympathy  was  established  between  dog  and 
master,  a  mutuality  often  evidenced  by  tokens  of 
psychical  intimacy  at  which  Revato  marveled.  It 
was  an  instructive  study  for  Revato  to  observe  how 
every  slight  motion  on  his  part  was  followed  with 
understanding  on  the  dog's  part;  how  perfectly  each 
could  predict  the  other's  movements,  influence  him 
by  slight  suggestions,  tacitly  indicate  changes  of 
mood  and  carry  on  sport  which  was  clearly  under- 


[78] 


THE          LAYMAN         REVATO 


stood  to  be  such  and  was  guarded  by  a  code  of  honor 
against  undue  roughness,  under  which  both  parties 
felt  perfectly  secure. 

A  moral  consciousness  also  was  clearly  shown  in 
Dukkho.  If  Revato  was  weak  enough  to  let  an 
inward  groan  become  vocalized,  the  dog  would 
approach  and  paw  upon  him  in  altruistic  pity.  A 
foible  to  which  the  animal  occasionly  gave  rein, 
in  relaxation  from  his  habitual  sobriety,  was  the  pur 
suit  of  kukkuktls — hens.  Once,  while  thus  engaged, 
he  was  stung  by  a  bee,  whereupon  he  hid  in  shame 
for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  fully  aware  of  the  in 
visible  kamma  which  had  wrought  his  retribution. 

Such  traits  of  likeness  between  man  and  dog  were 
indeed  offset  by  a  mountain  of  differences,  of  limits 
over  which  the  latter  could  not  pass.  Revato  hardly 
knew  whether  to  call  the  similarities  or  antitheses 
more  characteristic.  But  of  this  he  was  convinced, 
that  if  the  contrasts  were  significant  of  great  facts,  the 
resemblances  were  also,  and  that  they  were  enough 
to  establish  a  very  close  relation  between  himself 
and  the  more  helpless  creatures  that  swarmed  around 
him,  a  relationship  demanding  deep  interest  and  pity 
both  for  this  world  and  worlds  to  come.  He  was 
led  by  this  thought  as  by  many  other  of  his  independ 
ent  reflections  to  the  feet  of  his  sapient  Master. 

SUNNATA — EMPTINESS 

While  disinterestedness  thus  had  power  to  lay 
strong  hold  upon  Revato,  neither  its  claims  nor 
those  of  religious  self-seeking  controlled  him  to  the 
perfection  of  Saintship.  His  heart,  after  all,  was  a 
ravenous  tiger.  The  old  broken  fetters  of  self-delu 
sion  and  life-love  were  ever  re-uniting  about  his 
limbs.  Repeated  failures  taught  him  how  better  to 
direct  his  efforts  for  effectual  release.  He  must  be 
loosed  from  all  sense  of  earthly  possession  other  than 
as  a  mere  licensee  or  a  tenant  at  a  will  not  his  own. 
If  the  breezes  blew  they  produced  a  grateful  refresh 
ment,  but  if  they  withheld  their  motion  he  would 
not  complain.  He  would  not  say  in  the  evening 
"I  hope  that  tomorrow  will  be  cool,"  for  he  had  no 
claim  on  tomorrow  nor  on  to-day.  Peace  comes  only 
"When  unremembered  is  the  thought  'my  own.'  " 

Trouble  cannot  lodge  where  there  is  nothing  upon 
which  trouble  can  take  hold.  There  might  be  a 
logical  defect,  yet  was  there  not  also  a  great  truth  in 
the  old  verse: 

"On  covered  roofs  it  falls, 

But  not  on  open  roofs,  the  rain; 
If  but  you  will  take  off  the  roof, 

'Twill  ne'er  be  wet  again"? 

By  such  paradoxical  policy,  such  abdication  of 
ordinary  prudence,  reversal  of  the  canons  of  reason, 
might  be  attained  that  Ultimate  Condition  which  is 
described  in  a  variant  of  the  metaphor,  that  state  of 
quiescence  of  turmoil  and  trouble  when: 


That  desire  in  itself  is  an  evil  thing,  Revato's 
common  sense  never  could  admit  in  the  sweeping 
manner  of  his  teachers.  But  his  experience  had 
otherwise  led  him  to  a  nearly  the  same  conclusion. 
He  had  found  that  almost  invariably  the  wish  for  a 
thing  raises  a  necessity  to  violate  our  sense  of  right 
just  a  little  in  order  to  obtain  it.  This  presupposes  a 
delicate  conscience  habituated  to  be  on  the  alert  for 
traces  of  evil.  If  the  wish  be  not  primarily  wrong,  it 
teazes  a  conscience  thus  practiced  into  detecting  the 
wrong.  The  outcome  is  therefore  an  identification  of 
wishing  with  depravity,  which  confirms  practically, 
if  not  quite  in  theory,  the  doctrine  of  Buddho  that  a 
taint  inheres  in  desire. 

If,  at  least,  the  question  arises  whether,  in  a 
particular  case,  duty  lies  with  or  against  inclination, 
there  is  a  strong  presumption  that  they  are  opposed, 
because  where  they  agree,  action  follows  spon 
taneously  and  a  conscious  moral  issue  is  not  raised. 

Two  general  rules  might  have  summed  up  Revato's 
philosophy  of  moral  discipline:  Abstention,  first  from 
that  which  involves  wrong  and  compromise;  second, 
from  that  which  has  for  its  purpose  luxury,  as 
distinguished  from  comfort.  But  no  purification  of 
the  body  with  a  surgeon's  knife  was  ever  more 
severe  than  the  one  which  the  heart  must  undergo  if 
subjected  to  these  principles.  Total  severance  of 
conscious  worldly  attachment  must  inevitably 
follow.* 

Happiness  which  comes  unbidden,  therefore,  is  the 
only  earthly  form  that  is  not  alloyed.  Even  to 
suppress  desire  with  a  view  to  obtaining  such  happi 
ness  would  be  merely  a  self-deceiving  indirection. 

Not  the  outward  cloister  but  the  inward,  Revato 
felt,  was  the  residence  of  duty.  To  bear  his  part 
on  earth  oblivious  to  its  seductions,  this  was  his  task. 

Casual  experience  with  the  world  should,  he  per 
ceived,  be  made  by  a  right  spirit  to  subserve  inward 
freedom.  Thus,  as  had  been  said: 

"No  form-fancy  kindling, 
But  haply  beholding 
Each  object  unyearning, 

The  vision  is  clear; 
Sensation  is  dwindling, 
Detachment  unfolding; 
The  sorrow  discerning, 
Nibbana  is  near." 


"The  Wheel  is  broken,  craving  now  is  dead, 
Nor  flows  the  river  on  its  dried-up  bed; 
Ne'er  shall  the  shattered  wheel  roll  on  again, 
And  so  is  reached  the  Perfect  End  of  Pain." 


*"We  must  learn  to  look  upon  life  as  an  apprenticeship  to  a 
progressive  renunciation,  a  perpetual  diminution  in  our  preten- 
tions,  our  hopes,  our  powers  and  our  liberty.  The  circle  grows 
narrower  and  narrower;  we  begin  with  being  eager  to  learn 
everything,  to  see  everything,  to  tame  and  conquer  everything, 
and  in  all  directions  we  reach  our  limit — non  plus  ultra.  Fortune, 
glory,  love,  power,  health,  happiness,  long  life,  all  these  blessings 
which  have  been  possessed  by  other  men  seem  at  first  promised 
and  accessible  to  us,  and  then  we  have  to  put  the  dream  away 
from  us,  to  withdraw  one  personal  claim  after  another,  to  make 
ourselves  small  and  humble,  to  submit  to  feel  ourselves  lim 
ited,  feeble,  dependent,  ignorant  and  poor,  and  to  throw  our 
selves  upon  God  for  all,  recognizing  our  own  worthlessness, 
and  that  we  have  no  right  to  anything.  It  is  in  this  nothingness 
that  we  recover  something  of  life — the  divine  spark  is  there  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  Resignation  comes  to  us  and,  in  believing  love,  we 
reconquer  the  true  greatness." — H.  F.  Amiel. 


[79] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


Renunciation  to  Revato  was  no  mere  acknowledg 
ment  of  external  barriers,  but  a  self  immolation  at 
heart.  He  was  further  aware — and  this  was  the 
hardest  of  all — that  it  would  go  for  naught  if  he 
solaced  himself  with  secret  bitterness.  He  should 
"live  and  die  in  the  shade"  but  he  must  do  so  with 
unfeigned  good  cheer. 

"How  blissfully  we  live  who  nothing  hold! 
Like  sparkling  angels,  we  will  feast  on  joy." 

It  was  the  duty  of  such  unnatural  bliss  that  most 
made  him  feel  the  despair  of  his  condition. 

His  mind  anon  reverted  to  that  day  after  the 
Pavarana  festival  when,  on  the  Mountain  of  the  Vul 
ture's  Peak,  he  had  instructed  his  reverend  friends 
as  to  the  meaning  of  Renunciation.  How  much 
more  his  ponderings  of  the  few  intervening  months 
had  taught  him  concerning  the  subtle  implications 
of  that  word!  The  Venerables  Bharadvajo  and 
Kondanno  had  by  this  time  returned  from  the  Cock 
Garden;  Bharadvajo  had  marvelously  recovered 
strength  and  had  been  able  to  accompany  his  fellow, 
with  a  sturdy  stride,  back  to  the  old  Hill  City.  To 
them  one  day  Revato  unburdened  the  thoughts  that 
pressed  for  utterance: 

"If,  after  a  man  has  thrust  aside  that  which  is 
most  dear  unto  him,  he  reflects,  'Perhaps  this  was 
unnecessary,  unwise;  maybe  the  time  will  come 
when  I  shall  find  it  right  to  revoke  my  abdication; 
why  should  I  exert  my  ingenuity  to  render  such 
recall  impossible?' — yet  if,  finding  this  ensealment 
of  quit-claim  more  difficult  than  the  main  act,  he 
nevertheless  puts  his  purpose  beyond  possibility  of 
reconsideration — he  knows  what  it  means  to  re 
nounce. 

"Have  you  not  heard  of  the  monk  who  loved  his 
garden  so  well  that  after  leaving  the  world  he  six 
times  backslid  by  thoughts  of  his  spade  which  he 
had  concealed,  yet  finally,  carrying  it  to  the  river 
side,  shutting  tight  his  eyes  and  whirling  it  thrice 
around  his  head,  he  flung  it  with  elephantine  force 
straight  into  mid-stream,  determined  that  it  should 
not  fall  where  he  could  fish  it  out  again,  and  who 
then,  as  a  lion  roars,  shouted:  'I  have  conquered.'? 

"Or  if,  as  it  may  befall,  a  man  has  already  cast 
away  what  seemed  to  him  the  essence  of  his  life,  so 
that  he  becomes  like  dead;  yet  if,  anon,  in  the  sun 
shine,  his  animation  renews  and  fresh  joys  begin  to 
bud;  if,  in  plain  terms,  his  heart  discovers  residual 
or  fresh  .interests,  nursing  them  till  they  become 
full  grown  and  take  the  place  of  the  old  ones,  and  if 
he  must  likewise  sever  them  off,  one  by  one — he 
knows  what  it  means  to  renounce. 

"Ah,  but  our  grasping  is  like  that  of  a  monkey 
which  lets  go  of  one  branch  only  to  catch  hold  of 
another!  Yes,  when  the  heart  of  the  mendicant,  who 
has  broken  all  other  attachment,  fixes  only  upon  a 
dog,  a  tree,  a  mouse  or  a  cockroach  in  his  cell,  it 
goes  to  show  that  the  spirit  is  yet  unsubdued.  Think 
of  the  bhikkhu  in  the  story  who  harbored  a  viper  as 
a  pet  and  who,  when  warned  by  Bodhisatto,  answered 


that  it  was  dear  to  him  and  that  he  could  not  bear 
to  part  with  it;  for  which  obstinacy  he  lost  his 
life. 

"Ruthlessly,  then,  we  must  lop  off  every  green 
sprout  of  desire  although  the  very  pruning  stimulate 
a  ranker  growth.  We  are  to  stifle  all  sense  of  acqui 
sition  or  property  by  treating  everything  we  possess 
as  a  jewel  picked  up  in  the  road,  whose  sparkle  we 
may  enjoy  only  until  we  find  the  owner.  Yes,  we 
must  even  combat  that  insidious  guile  with  which 
we  think  to  hold  a  vested  interest  of  selfish  delight 
in  necessary  acts,  such  as  eating,  and  must  cultivate 
rather  the  pahanaparinna — a  clear  consciousness  of 
rejecting  pleasures  of  appetite  while  we  eat  to  sustain 
life.  In  his  'Enunciations'  the  Tathagato  declared: 

"  'When  power  of  ancient  wrong  is  overthrown, 
When  old,  corruptive  dust  no  longer  clings, 
When  unremembered  is  the  thought  "my  own" 
Then  age-long  sorrows  perish  from  their  springs.' 

"Perhaps,  after  one  has  broken  the  power  of  the 
five  crude  senses,  there  waxes  acute  that  subtle  sense 
which  clamors,  'An-annatang  nassami — I  will  know 
the  unknown.'  He  seeks  happiness  in  the  pursuit  of 
wisdom  and  he  thinks:  'Though  I  have  given  up  all 
my  goods,  my  thoughts  are  my  inalienable  property; 
though  I  have  subjugated  my  body,  my  mind  cannot 
be  suppressed;  I  seek  only  Truth  and  Truth  is  a 
right  object.'  Then  comes  a  misgiving  and  he  begins 
to  reflect:  'Why  do  I  pursue  the  Truth?  Is  it  not 
for  vain  curiosity?  Is  it  not  for  pride?  Is  it  not 
for  the  bold  enjoyment  of  confuting  my  elders?  Is 
it  not  in  hope  that  I  may  prove  the  blessed  Dhamma 
to  be  false  and  with  impunity  may  defy  the  law  of 
Cause  and  Effect?'  Wisely  did  Bhagava  reprove  our 
speculations  on  dark  subjects — on  the  first  origin  of 
things,  the  eternity  of  the  world,  the  nature  of  Nib- 
bana  and  similar  problems  which  we  cannot  solve 
and  which  divert  us  from  themes  on  which  we  need 
to  ponder.  And  even  to  uproot  weeds  of  error  may 
be  untimely  if  they  are  growing  close  to  sacred  flow 
ers  that  risk  destruction  with  them.  For  Truth  is  a 
fearful  peril,  and  though  it  must  finally  prevail,  that 
will  not  save  him  who  injures  others  or  himself  by 
hasty  meddling  in  word  or  thought.  I  say  not  that 
his  duty  lies  in  falsehood,  but  in  silence.  Hereby 
may  it  be  known  when  to  follow  Truth  is  lawful — 
when  she  is  sought  after  not  with  delight,  but  in 
travail  of  soul.  For  to  the  sage  as  to  the  sensualist, 
death  lies  in  longing.  He  that  for  this  cause  slays 
his  intellect — he  knows  what  it  means  to  renounce. 

"Thus  it  was  that  Talaputo  struggled: 

"  'Desire  and  folly  I  forsook,  the  bitter  and  the  sweet- 
Fair  images  and  feelings  dear  that  flesh  or  mind  would  greet, 
These  all  alike  I  left  behind— and  shall  I  now  retreat? 

"  Wilt  thou  beguile  me,  O  my  heart,  by  cunning  tricks  concealed, 
Again,  again,  once  more,  my  strong  resolve  to  yield? 
To  madness  thou  hast  often  lured,  and  led  me  far  afield. 

"Now  this,  my  heart,  at  rest,  at  large,  I'll  set  before  thy  sight- 
That  where  a  wish  is  there  is  love,  and  where  is  love,  delight; 
So,  like  a  raging  elephant,  I'll  handle  thee  aright.' 


[80] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"Having  put  away  all  the  pleasures  of  mind,  as 
well  as  of  sense,  is  there  not  a  reward  in  the  appro 
bation  of  good  men?  But  some  are  called  upon  to 
forego  even  this,  to  let  themselves  be  misunderstood, 
be  charged  with  ungenerosity,  ingratitude,  cowardice, 
dishonor,  when  a  word  would  refute  the  accusation — 
a  word  which  must  not  be  spoken.  It  has  often 
seemed  to  me  that  no  other  part  of  the  Great  Renun 
ciation  could  have  been  to  the  Blessed  One  so  full  of 
anguish  as  bearing  the  reproach  of  unkindness  when 
he  left  those  near  to  him  in  order  to  seek  salvation 
for  all  mankind.  Whoever  consents  unjustly  to  be 
reviled  of  men  and  women — he  knows  what  it  means 
to  renounce. 

"Being  harassed,  as  we  have  seen,  by  the  mistaken 
scorn  of  mankind,  the  heart  would  take  refuge  in 
its  own  impervious  cavern.  But  self-approbation, 
which  there  dwells,  is  a  most  venomous  snake  and  will 
sting  to  death  every  housemate.  When  even  a 
faultless  life  has  become  an  object  of  clinging,  it  turns 
to  poison  like  other  desires,  and  occasion  may  arise 
for  its  painful  sacrifice.  How  few  there  be,  bhante, 
who  can  interpret  this  saying,  that  'the  craving 
for  brahmacariya'* — for  pure  life — is  among  those 
which  ought  to  be  destroyed.  This  meaning  I  have 
found  therein:  Since  all  conduct  must  be  a  choice 
between  wrongs,  the  lesser  preferred  to  the  greater, 
it  will  often  occur  that  those  works  should  be  elected 
which  most  humiliate  spiritual  pride  by  destruction 
of  fond  ideals,  and  this  will  especially  be  true  where 
the  heart  most  yearns  for  its  own  peace.  Whoso 
thus  mortifies  even  his  conscience — he  knows  what 
it  means  to  renounce." 

"You  are  preaching  heresy,  Layman!"  exclaimed 
the  Venerable  Kondanno.  "For  the  arahat  there  is 
no  choice  of  evils,  but  he  is  perfect  in  all  his  deeds. 
Remember  how  the  Blessed  One  declared:  'There 
are  those  who  take  for  truth  the  teaching  of  the 
trouble  maker  that,  whatever  one  attains  to,  it  is 
sprinkled  over  with  evil.  There  is  a  second  opinion, 
that  no  harm  resides  in  lusts.  Both  of  these  views  of 
life — despair  of  good  and  sensuality — enlarge  the 
realm  of  death.  And  that,  in  turn,  tends  to  the 
increase  of  speculation?" 

"Does  the  arahat,"  asked  Revato,  "never  walk 
abroad  after  dark?" 

"Certainly,"  Kondanno  answered,  "if  for  a  good 
work." 

"And  when  he  starts  out,  is  he  not  aware  that  he 
will  most  likely  trample  to  death  some  earth  worm? 
This  assuredly  is  a  choice  of  evil." 

"With  your  subtleties  you  are  impugning  wisdom 
of  the  Buddho,"  retorted  Kondanno;  "but  you  do 
only  confirm  the  truth  of  his  word,  that  the  ascrip 
tion  of  evil  to  the  holy  redounds  to  pernicious  spec 
ulation.  You  who  but  now  were  asserting  that  men 
ought  to  renounce  their  right  to  speculate!" 

*Iti-Vuttaka,  sec.  54,  which  I  follow  Moore  in  taking  at  its 
face  value,  despite  the  suspicion  that  an  error  has  somewhere 
entered. 

[8, 


"I  did  not  claim  that  we  should  never  speculate," 
answered  Revato,  "but  that  we  should  do  so  with 
discrimination.  We  must  fit  our  discourse  to  the 
hearer,  avoiding  what  would  stimulate  his  disposi 
tion  and  rather  applying  a  wholesome  corrective. 
To  you,  soaring  in  your  windy  sanctimony,  I  may 
speak  words  that  would  be  serpents'  fangs  to  some 
ignorant  worshipper  in  yonder  licentious  deva  temple. 

'When  others  fall,  I  rise, 
When  others  rise,  I  fall,' 

as  you  are  fond  of  quoting  from  saint  Piyanjaho  of 
old." 

"A  moment  ago,"  argued  Kondanno  taking  a 
new  tack,  "you  were  contending  for  uncompromis 
ing  perfection  of  life,  as  if  the  slightest  wrong  would 
taint  it  wholly.  But  now  you  affirm  that  all  conduct 
is  a  balancing  of  evils.  I  cannot  reconcile  the  two 
theories." 

"A  slight  wrong,"  answered  Revato,  "becomes  a 
great  wrong  if  it  be  a  necessary  stepping  stone  to  a 
great  object.  When  done  for  a  purpose  it  must  be 
measured  thereby.  To  such  wrongs  I  especially 
referred.  Some  evils,  moreover,  are  totally  con 
demned  by  their  very  nature.  Among  them  are  all 
words  and  acts  that  are  not  transparent  in  candour. 
Honesty  differs  from  many  virtues  in  this,  that  it 
admits  no  compromise.  Again,  where  inaction  is 
possible,  we  are  less  justified  in  doing  a  wrong  than 
where  no  passive  alternative  is  offered.  For  which 
cause,  I  am  every  day  more  sluggish  to  act.  I  do 
not  claim  that  these  arguments  are  perfect.  We  are 
dealing  with  elusive  matters.  I  own  that  I  feel 
promptings  to  bolder  reasonings,  such  as  I  dare  not 
suggest  even  to  you. —  But  enough  of  this,  for  I 
must  finish  telling  you  what  it  means  to  renounce. 

"In  its  despair,  the  mind  will  clutch  at  self-pity, 
as  a  man  swept  away  by  a  freshet  on  Ganga  river 
snatches  a  drifting  log.  Such  inward  grasp  is  more 
difficult  to  break  than  the  hold  of  him  who  drowns. 
If  Anando,  gentlest  of  all  the  disciples,  was  excluded 
from  the  Great  Council  and  held  back  from  saint 
hood  until  he  had  ceased  to  harbour  a  grudge  in 
his  heart,  how  can  we  break  the  fetters  while  we 
cherish  an  injured  spirit?  When  we  have  flayed  our 
selves  for  duty's  sake,  are  we  forbidden  to  cry  out 
with  pain?  He  who,  having  thus  flayed  himself, 
does  not  cry  out  even  in  spirit — he  knows  what  it 
means  to  renounce." 

Still  at  times  was  Revato  brought  back  to  a 
source  of  solace.  The  strongest  aid  in  his  difficulties, 
one  to  which  in  his  most  harrassing  trials  he  could 
turn  with  assurance  of  soothing  and  stimulus,  was 
the  power  of  a  compelling,  yet  winning  personality. 

An  atmosphere  almost  of  holy  clearness  some 
times  enveloped  him  when  he  dwelt  upon  the  calm, 
spotless  life  of  his  enlightened  lord.  As  his  thoughts 
turned  from  Prote  and  those  things  which  she  and 
hers  represented,  to  him  who,  upon  these  same 
forested  hills,  had  gone  out  from  every  household 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


gain  and  comfort  and  had  lived  unmoved  by  the 
enticements  of  the  world,  Revato  realized  the 
weakness  and  shame  of  any  yielding  in  himself,  and 
he  perceived  how  full  with  the  true  elements  of 
satisfaction  were  the  compensatory  privileges  of 
those  who  immolated  their  earthly  hearts. 

RAIN 

Such,  during  the  months  that  dragged  along  after 
Revato's  return  to  Rajagaha,  was  his  inward  life, 
that  is  to  say  his  true  life.  His  outward  life,  if  that 
mattered,  was  marked  by  few  incidents.  He  con 
tinued  to  perform  the  duties  of  his  office  in  a  mechan 
ical  way,  for  in-so-far  as  he  had  mastered  the  hopes 
and  fears  connected  with  it,  and  had  assumed 
indifference  to  personal  results,  however  dolorous, 
the  moral  stress  to  immediate  change  pressed  less 
heavily  upon  him,  and  whether  wisely  or  mistakenly, 
his  conscience  for  the  time  being  tolerated  a  cautious 
policy  of  laissez  faire. 

The  two  months  of  Hemanta,  early  Winter, 
which  season  had  chiefly  comprised  his  visit  at 
Pataliputta,  were  soon  over  and  were  followed  by 
the  chills  of  Sisira,  the  cool,  dewy  time.  A  new 
year  came  in  almost  abreast  with  Vasanta,  that  far- 
too-brief  period  of  vernal  transition  when,  remem 
bering  our  shivers,  we  welcome  their  relief,  heedless 
of  the  worse  fate  that  is  in  store.  Quickly  it  merged 
into  Gimha,  Summer,  a  time  of  parching  heat, 
when  verdure  burned  from  the  fields,  forest  brooks 
and  springs  dried  up,  birds  cowered  with  spreading 
beaks,  four-footed  beasts  lay  dead  of  thirst  and  the 
valleys  were  thick  with  mountain  serpents  which  had 
quitted  their  rocky  dens  in  quest  of  water. 

When  the  month  Asalha  drew  near,  the  hangsas, 
wild  swans,  might  have  been  descried  high  aloft,  in 
flocks,  flying  toward  Himavanta,  to  spend  their 
breeding  season  about  the  Anottata  tarn  on  Mount 
Kelasa.  At  the  same  time,  the  mendicants  of  the 
Order  in  companies  or  in  pairs  or  singly,  were 
returning  from  their  scattered  alms  and  preaching 
tours  to  pass  the  coming  lenten  season  at  Rajagaha. 
Day  by  day  they  continued  to  wander  in,  until 
hundreds,  even  thousands,  had  arrived  and  taken 
up  their  residences  in  the  sangharamas  of  the 
Bambu  and  Mango  groves.  Some,  more  zealous 
and  some  more  traditional  than  the  rest,  sought 
out  meditative  grottoes  on  the  mountain  sides  or 
framed  and  thatched  for  themselves  grass  huts,  like 
the  disciples  of  yore. 

Eager  to  inward  compellings, 
Houselife  and  home  they  forsake, 
Dallying  not  in  their  dwellings, 
Flitting  like  swans  from  their  lake. 

Among  those  who  passed  on  from  the  comfortable 
monasteries  to  special  retreats  in  more  austere 
quarters,  were  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo  and  the 
Venerable  Kondaiino,  who,  as  usual,  resorted  to  the 
huts  on  the  Vulture's  Peak. 

^Suddehly,  one  night,  the  sky  became  radiant 
with  forked  lightning  playing  against  the  tops  of 


Vipula  and  Vebhara,  the  air  grew  resonant  with 
thunder  and  the  world  was  swept  by  a  southeast 
gale  like  the  all-destroying  wind  at  the  end  of  an 
aeon — the  Yugantavato. 

Water  poured  as  if  Sakko  were  bringing  down  the 
Ganga  of  the  heavens.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the 
monsoon,  which  had  broken  up  the  summer. 

After  its  violence  abated,  its  clouds  lingered  over 
the  country,  discharging  a  constant  downpour, 
which  laid  the  dust  and  turned  vegetation  green, 
though  the  forest  trees  were  bared  by  the  gales. 
Vassana,  the  Rainy  Season,  had  begun. 

Their  lenten  retirement  was,  of  all  yearly  events, 
dearest  to  the  fervent  souls  of  those  brethren  who 
minded  not  the  depressing  influences  of  the  constant 
rains.  It  was  a  time  for  hard  spiritual  exercises,  for 
exalted  rhapsodies.  Those  most  ardently  seeking 
seclusion  had  penetrated  into  the  deep  woods  and 
passed  weeks  at  the  foot  of  some  tree  in  the  dripping 
jungle  encompassed  by  boars,  antelope,  deer  and 
snakes.  Thus  long  ago  the  Thera  Talaputo: 

When  will  the  time  of  the  rain  outpour 

New-born  waters  adown  on  me, 
In  my  hermit's  dress  on  the  greenwood  floor 
In  the  way  of  the  Master  who  comes  no  more — 

When  shall  it  be? 

When  shall  I  sit  in  the  caverned  hill 

Where  the  peacock's  call  comes  in  to  me 

And  I  hear  the  skyward  songbird's  trill 

And  I  soar  to  a  sky  that  is  higher  still — 
When  shall  it  be? 

When,  as  the  maul  of  the  hell-world  flings 

Ganga's  terrible  floods  at  me, 
Shall  I  sap  their  power  in  their  utmost  springs — 
There  is  naught  to  harm  but  in  him  who  clings — 

When  shall  it  be? 

When  shall  I  war,  with  an  elephant's  ire, 
On  the  sensuous  foes  that  encompass  me, 

Till  I  feel  decay  in  its  cause  expire 

And  my  soul  is  rapt  with  a  mystic  fire — 
When  shall  it  be? 

Revato  sought  company  with  his  two  friends  at 
the  Vulture's  Peak  less  often  than  formerly,  and, 
when  he  came,  there  was  in  him  a  listlessness  not 
unnoticed. 

"It  must  be  due  to  the  weather,"  he  said  when 
questioned.  Hardly  could  an  explanation  have  been 
more  plausible.  Never  throughout  a  four  months' 
vassa  had  the  rain  poured  down  more  continually. 
It  flowed  in  perpetual  torrents  through  the  mountain 
gullies,  swelling  the  Sarassati  brook  to  a  mighty 
river  and  flooding  the  fields  about  the  walls  of  the 
new  town.  The  unseen  sun  diffused  its  heat  over 
the  earth,  day  and  night,  lifting  the  fallen  water  in 
vapor  like  the  mists  of  the  hot  springs,  to  remain 
low-suspended  over  all  the  earth  and  discharge  in  a 
sluggish  drizzle  upon  the  now  defoliate  forest. 
In  the  rain  came  myriad  creeping  and  flying  and 
crawling  and  gliding  creatures  to  torment  and 
terrify  the  sleepless  hours  of  darkness. 

Only  twice  during  this  long  Lenten  period,  did  the 
receding  clouds  disclose  the  moon.  On  these  two 


[82] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


nights,  so  delightful  for  their  rarity,  open  air  preach 
ing  services  were  held  in  the  Mango  Grove.  People 
of  the  city  and  from  neighboring  villages  came  to 
sit  on  the  grass  in  a  glade  of  the  park  and  listen 
to  the  monks  as  they  instructed  and  admonished 
or  told  tales  from  the  Jatakas  to  draw  the  atten 
tion  of  the  more  ignorant  hearers.  Aside  from 


these  occasions,  life  was  an  oppression.  Caravan 
trade  was  halted  by  the  swollen  rivers  and  the 
doors  of  the  custom  house  closed  for  lack  of  busi 
ness.  Revato  was  left  with  nothing  to  do  but  to 
turn  his  thoughts  deeper  into  his  heart,  woeful 
retreat  as  that  might  be  from  the  dismal  prospect 
outside. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  VISION  OF  LIFE 


"Just  as  when,  O  Brethren,  at  the  end  of  the  last 
month  of  Summer,  the  dust  and  dirt  are  destroyed 
by  a  great  unseasonable  storm  which  perforce  allays 
and  suppresses  them,  even  thus,  O  Brethren,  when 
Intent  Contemplation  in  Breathing  is  practiced,  in 
creased  and  perfected,  yea  when  it  is  sweet,  pleasant, 
delightful  and  enduring  in  the  effect  produced,  it 
perforce  allays  and  suppresses  bad,  evil  things. 

With  the  month  Asalha,  when  the  days  are  longest, 
had  come  that  monsoon  which  broke  up  the  Summer, 
but  its  benefit  had  been  illusory,  for  not  even  the 
scorching  drought  could  so  depress  the  heart  of  man 
and  Nature  as  did  the  steaming  rains  which  ensued. 
Some  alleviation  was  felt  after  the  first  two  vassa 
months,  when  Autumn  coolness  crept  into  the  air. 
A  more  beneficent  change  overspread  the  world 
toward  the  end  of  the  fourth  month  when,  as  Assayu- 
ga  was  giving  place  to  Kattika,  a  north  wind  came 
from  Himava,  driving  together  the  clouds  and 
shepherding  them  down  the  sky  like  flocks  of  sheep. 

"In  the  last  month  of  the  rain,"  as  an  old  recita 
tion  runs,  "in  Autumn  time,  when  the  sky  is  clear 
and  the  clouds  have  rifted,  the  sun,  ascending  the 
sky  and  pervading  all  that  is  situate  either  in  light 
or  in  darkness,  doth  shine  and  glow  and  radiate." 
Thenceforward  by  day  the  heaven  became  a  deep 
blue  wherein  at  evening  the  stars  expanded  like 
loti  on  a  lake.  In  the  valleys  plentiful  kasa  grass 
arose,  rapidly  approaching  its  wonted  height  of 
ten  or  twelve  cubits  and  whitening  the  land  with  its 
silvery  wool.  Leaves  and  blossoms  of  every  sort 
put  out  on  trees  and  ground,  for  the  season  of  early 
Hemanta,  Winter,  was  the  true  time  of  Spring. 
The  air  had  become  resilient  and  hard  as  glass;  it 
quickly  dried  up  the  dampness  of  the  fields  and 
forests,  save  where  floods  remained  in  great  pools. 
Likewise  it  dried  the  sweat  and  the  tears  of  mankind. 
In  the  alternations  of  earth,  which,  like  man,  is 
fated  to  endless  sangsara,  this  among  the  times  of 
year  is  Brahmaloka.  While  Farmers  went  forth 
to  plough  and  ditchers  to  dig,  the  brethren,  who  till 
themselves,  set  out  upon  their  annual  travels,  not 
without  confidence  of  support  by  the  way  and 
readiness  of  spiritual  ministry  to  others. 

Under  the  influence  of  this  season,  Revato  the 
Layman  resorted  one  day  to  the  forest  at  the  foot  of 


the  Vulture's  Peak  mountain  for  the  purpose  of 
breathing.  It  was  not  to  be  the  inhalation  of  the 
light-hearted  holiday  maker,  nor  yet  of  the -suffo 
cated  lungs  which  might  physically  crave  these 
crisp  northern  airs,  but  the  measured,  prolonged, 
thoughtful,  purposive,  expiration  and  inspiration  of 
the  striver  after  peace. 

"Forests  are  delightful,"  says  one;  "where  the 
world  findeth  no  delight,  there  the  passionless  will 
find  delight,  for  they  seek  not  after  pleasures." 

This  eremitic  exultation  was  heard  in  many  of  the 
psalms  familiar  to  Revato;  in  none  more  rapturously 
than  that  of  Ekavihariyo,  the  Dweller  Alone.  He 
was  identical  with  King  Asoko's  younger  brother, 
Prince  Tisso,  who  after  these  blissful  experiences  at 
Rajagaha,  had  gone  to  end  his  days  in  a  monastery 
of  that  distant  southern  land,  Kalinga. 

THE  SONG  OF  EKAVIHAIYO,  THE  ANCHORITE 

If  before  me,  if  behind  me,  treads  no  follower  to  intrude, 
Sweet  the  season  that  shall  find  me  deep  in  sylvan  solitude. 

Let  me  seek  those  wildernesses  which  the   Enlightened  Lord 

extolled. 
Glad  the  monk  whose  purpose  presses  far  to  the  deserted  wold. 

Trained  in  rapture-kindling  trances,  soon  sensation  falls  away; 
Though  the  elephant  advances,  bold  I  to  the  woodland  stray. 

Fair  the  flowers  in  Sita's  ramble,  where,  what  time  my  limbs  I  lave, 
Up  the  mountain  side  I'll  amble  to  the  coolness  of  a  cave. 

Solitary,  unprotected,  in  the  beautiful  great  wood, 
I  will  dwell — how  soon  perfected,  purged  the  wrong,  performed 
the  good? 

Prosper  now  my  strong  intention,  let  my  strenuous  will  succeed, 
Doing,  void  of  intervention,  mine,  and  not  another's  deed. 

By  myself  the  conquest  winning,  I  will  tread  the  jungle  track, 
All  decay  and  root  of  sinning  purging  e'er  I  turn  me  back. 

Where,  on  perfumed,  fresh  perflations,  tree-flung  scents  come 

fluttering  down, 
I  will  rend  my  crude  illations  seated  on  the  green  hill's  crown. 

Cool  the  mountain  cave  around  me,  ripe  the  flower-clad  grove 

distils, 

Dear  the  land  where  I've  unbound  me — Fortress  of  the  Circling 
hills. 

Waxing  will  pervades  me  stronger  as  the  discal  moon  inflates 
Sin  shall  compass  me  no  longer,  nor  a  new  becoming  waits. 


[83] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


The  delectability  of  experiences  like  Ekavihariyo's 
was  accentuated  by  their  prudent  rarity.  Whereas 
the  Brahmins  went  into  the  forest  to  become  per 
petual  eremites,  the  Buddho  had  counseled  for  his 
disciples  wise  companionship.  Their  retreats,  like 
his  own,  were  by  custom  temporary  ones.  Thence 
these  friars  returned  with  uplifted  hearts  and 
stronger  self-possession  to  the  communal  life. 

But  wherefore  did  Revato  thus  undertake  the 
unwonted  exercises  of  a  recluse  or  a  yogi?  With  the 
last  desperate  hope  that,  after  having  tried  all 
means  of  subduing  his  heart  by  the  independent 
power  of  his  reason,  and  finding  the  result  a  failure, 
he  might  accomplish  something  by  the  prescribed, 
traditional  methods  of  the  Church.  The  breathing 
exercise  was  a  practice  once  recommended  to  him  by 
Kondanno.  He  had  then  contemned  the  suggestion, 
but  now,  more  humble,  he  was  willing  and  anxious 
to  put  it  to  a  test. 

The  religion  of  the  Dhamma  had  grown  in  an 
atmosphere  saturated  with  the  mysticism  of  the  old 
votaries,  so  full  of  trances  and  raptures.  One  of  its 
best  results  was  its  return  to  earth  and  sanity. 
Surrounding  influences,  however,  were  persistently 
suasive  for  a  revival  of  ecstatic  culture,  and  it  is 
entitled  to  credit  for  yielding  to  them  no  more  than 
it  did.  Nevertheless,  a  place  well-recognized,  if 
not  preeminent,  was  found  in  this  Buddho  religion 
for  practice  of  trances,  of  ecstasies  which  went 
beyond  the  subdued  fervours  of  the  saints'  ordinary 
meditations.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  Tatha- 
gato  stamped  approval  upon  certain  states  of 
mystical  exaltation  and  himself  experienced  them. 
They  have  a  real  and  a  valuable  function  in  religion, 
even  if  liable  to  abuse,  and  if  less  necessary  than 
those  practical  duties  which  are  for  all  mankind. 

Connected  with  the  Jhanas,  or  trances  in  which 
Arahatship  reaches  its  most  perfect  equanimity, 
and  from  which  the  Blessed  One  himself  passed  to 
his  parinibbana,  were  the  exercises  of  methodical 
respiration,  learned  from  the  old  Brahmin  cult,  in 
which  physical  action  cooperated  with  extreme 
mental  effort. 

Such  mysterious  elements  in  the  religion  of  his 
up-bringing  had  appealed  to  Revato's  young  fancy 
because  of  their  romantic  glamour.  He  had  early 
flattered  himself  with  being  transcendentally  en 
dowed,  just  as  he  had  assumed  the  possession  of  all 
superior  qualities  until  he  grew  old  enough  to  esti 
mate  himself  more  rationally.  Self-experience 
gradually  proved  to  him  that  his  nature,  although 
sentimental,  was  remote  from  that  nai've,  vivid 
spirituality  which  is  called  mysticism;  that  he  was, 
in  fact,  analytically  and  prosaically  minded  and 
bound  fast  to  earth.  After  this  had  become  clear 
to  him,  his  interest  in  the  transcendental  appeared 
to  him  hypocritical,  or  at  least  remote.  His  sobering 
tastes  grew  to  admire  rather  the  dying  declaration  of 
Buddho:  "I  have  held  no  esoteric  doctrines;  mine 
has  not  been  the  closed  fist  of  a  teacher  who  keeps 
something  back."  Nevertheless,  Revato  could  not 


but  reverently  admit  the  existence  in  others  of 
those  deep  spiritual  phenomena  that  were  alien  to 
himself. 

Strictly  speaking,  the  time  most  appropriate  for 
practice  of  the  breathing  exercise  was  the  Lenten 
season  just  ended,  but  to  Revato  the  mood  for 
attempting  it  had  come  with  this  revival  of  Nature 
after  clearing  off  of  the  rains. 

Thus,  with  a  slender  but  vivid  hope,  he  betook 
himself  one  morning  to  a  thick  forest  east  of  Giribba- 
ja,  in  a  valley  between  Mounts  Vipula  and  Gijjha- 
kuto.  He  had  thought  of  going  to  the  Assattha 
Cave,  near  his  home,  at  the  base  of  Mount  Vebhara, 
where  Buddho  himself  had  so  often  meditated, 
or  to  that  other  favorite  resort  of  the  Master,  the 
rocky  cell  on  the  Vulture's  Peak.  From  the  latter, 
however,  the  open  Northern  horizon  might  entice 
his  eyes  to  strain  through  the  clear  air  for  the  invisi 
ble  peaks  of  Himava,  suggesting  pleasurable  heavens 
and  also  passes  to  Yonaloka.  Nor  was  either  re 
treat  secure  from  interruption;  even  in  the  trackless 
valley  jungle,  it  was  not  easy  to  find  a  spot  remote 
from  the  hermitages  of  other  eremites. 

Before  sunrise  on  that  day,  Revato  arose  and, 
having  quitted  his  home  fasting,  he  bathed  himself 
at  one  of  the  hot  springs  which  bubbled  on  either  side 
of  the  Sarassati  rivulet.  The  notion  entertained  by 
many  sects  in  Jambudipa,  that  purity  of  soul  is 
promoted  by  filth  of  body,  was  absent  from  the 
discipline  of  Buddho,  who  permitted  his  disciples  to 
take  steam  baths  at  intervals  longer  or  shorter 
according  to  conditions  of  weather,  health  and 
activity.  A  sense  of  correspondency  between  inward 
and  outward  cleansing  was,  however,  the  efficient 
cause  of  Revato's  ablutions. 

When  he  had  entered  deep  into  the  jungle,  he 
selected  a  large  Assattha  tree,  the  sacred  Bodhi 
kind,  and  seated  himself  at  its  roots,  prepared 
punctiliously  to  follow  the  rules. 

"While  peacocks  and  herons  mount  high  in  the  air, 
While  panthers  and  tigers  lurk  round  in  their  lair, 

Give  will-power  pre-eminent  place. 
Abandon  thy  body,  esteeming  it  nought, 
Be  agile  and  steady  to  gather  thy  thought 

And  fix  it  in  front  of  thy  face. " 

"How  practiced,"  said  the  Blessed  One,  "is 
intent  contemplation  in  breathing;  and  how,  for 
sooth  is  it  sweet,  pleasant,  delightful  and  enduring 
in  the  effect  produced,  perforce  allaying  bad,  evil 
things  and  causing  them  to  disappear?  Herein, 
O  monks:  The  monk,  retiring  to  the  forest  or  to  the 
foot  of  a  tree  or  to  an  uninhabited  spot,  sits  him 
down  cross-legged,  with  body  erect,  placing  his 
thoughts  directly  in  front  of  him" — • 

So  Revato,  after  first  reverentially  taking  refuge 
in  the  three  Gems — Buddho,  Dhamma,  Sangha — 
put  himself  in  just  the  right  posture  and  harnessed 
body  and  mind  for  their  correct  evolutions. 

"Thus  mindfully  he  inhales."  (Revato  drew  in  a 
breath,  endeavoring  the  while  to  fix  his  thoughts  on 
Equanimity.)  "Thus  mindfully  he  exhales."  (Re- 


[84] 


THE          LAYMAN         REVATO 


vato  did  likewise.)  "Inhaling  a  long  breath,  he 
reflects,  'I  am  inhaling  a  long  one.'  "  (Thus  did 
Revato.)  "Exhaling  a  long  one,  he  reflects, 'I  am 
exhaling  a  long  one.'  Inhaling  a  short  one,  he  re 
flects  'I  am  inhaling  a  short  one.'  Exhaling  a  short 
one,  he  reflects  'I  am  exhaling  a  short  one.'  " 

Revato  obeyed  the  regulations  conscientiously, 
changing  between  the  meditative  and  the  reverential 
attitude  each  moment,  but  so  far  he  felt  no  effect. 
However,  this  was  only  the  beginning,  so  patiently 
he  continued  to  follow  the  stages  of  the  discipline. 

"He  exercises,  'I  will  inhale  conscious  of  all  my 
body.'  He  exercises,  'I  will  exhale  conscious  of  all 
my  body.'  He  exercises,  'I  will  inhale  with  respira 
tion  tranquilized.'  He  exercises,  'I  will  exhale,'  etc. 
'I  will  inhale  feeling  joy,'  etc.  'I  will  inhale  feeling 
delight,'  etc." 

Revato  felt  neither  joy  nor  delight.  The  words 
only  mocked  him.  He  might  make  efforts  at 
tranquilization  frantic  enough  to  tear  himself  to 
pieces,  but  he  could  not  convert  his  discontented 
heart  into  a  contented  one.  Still  he  persisted: 

"  'I  will  inhale  and  exhale  experiencing  attention 
and  consideration.  I  will  inhale  and  exhale  with 
attention  and  consideration  tranquilized.  I  will 
inhale  and  exhale,  conscious  of  my  mind.  I  will 
inhale  and  exhale  with  mind  rejoicing — with  mind 
composed — with  mind  passionless — contemplating 
Impermanence — contemplating  Desirelessness — con 
templating  Cessation — contemplating  Salvation.' — 
Thus  one  inhales,  thus  he  exhales." 

Revato  completed  this  programme  as  well  as  he 
was  able.  In  attention  to  the  overt  acts  of  respiration, 
he  had  followed  instructions,  but  his  endeavors  to 
meditate  coordinately  on  moral  truths  had  not 
succeeded.  The  psychic  horse  in  the  team  required 
constant  goading.  His  thoughts  were  forced  and 
mechanical,  and  fugitive  at  that.  He  was  aware 
that  he  had  failed  to  concentrate  properly  and  that 
his  real  viewpoint  throughout  had  been  that  of  a 
critical,  almost  cynical  looker  at  himself. 

Still,  this  was  only  a  first  attempt;  long  self-train 
ing  might  be  necessary.  Revato  determined  that  he 
would  coerce  his  unruly  mind  and  repeat  the  ex 
ercises  until  he  succeeded  or  proved  success  impossi 
ble. 

Again  and  again  he  applied  the  formula,  some 
times  with  signs  of  progress,  sometimes  without 
them.  By  the  time  the  sun  showed  noon,  he  had 
gone  over  it  more  than  twenty  times.  This,  he 
thought,  was  almost  enough  proof  that  he  had  never 
been  born  for  "tranquilization  of  mind  in  breathing." 

He  reflected,  however,  that  what  other  men  had 
accomplished,  he  should  be  able  to  achieve  if  he 
persisted,  and  therefore  prepared  himself  to  devote 
the  whole  afternoon  and  night,  if  need  be,  to  exer 
tions.  Though  hungry  and  thirstier,  he  denied  him 
self  food,  taking  only  a  few  swallows  of  water  from  a 
basin  formed  between  two  trees  that  had  sprouted 
from  an  old  stump. 


The  afternoon  proved  a  duplicate  of  the  morning 
except  for  its  greater  weariness.  By  dusk  Revato 
was  in  a  state  of  exhaustion  which  bore  some  faint 
resemblance  to  the  Jhana  trances.  The  hope  that 
this  likeness  might  mean  a  genuine  identity  put  him 
into  a  nervous  tremor,  yet  a  subdued  one — for  he 
was  so  tired  and  drowsy.  He  had  ceased  to  apply 
the  breathing  exercise  and  was  respiring  at  random. 
His  thoughts  were  no  longer  confined  to  orthodox 
subjects  of  meditation  but  strayed  off  unchecked. 

The  jungle  about  him  shut  off  all  distant  prospects. 
While  the  sun  glow  remained,  his  gaze  reached  no 
farther  than  the  rocks  in  front  of  him.  One  huge 
boulder  had  been  cleft  in  two,  perhaps  that  very  one 
taken  by  the  blessed  Master  to  symbolize  the  state 
of  him  who  is  cloven  from  the  company  of  the  faith 
ful.  A  separation  as  complete,  it  seemed  to  Revato, 
had  been  his  first,  last  and  ever. 

As  darkness  thickened,  his  attention  wandered  to 
the  sharp  outlines  of  the  tree  tops  fringing  a  narrow 
field  of  star-strewn  sky.  At  the  end  of  the  valley  was 
a  glow  indicative  of  the  rising  moon,  but  elsewhere 
the  depths  of  the  forest  were  unlighted  save  by  fire 
flies  and  glow-worms  near  or  farther  off,  which 
marked  the  varying  translucency  of  the  foliate 
regions.  Among  those  multiform  trees  and  creepers, 
now  indistinguishable,  his  mind's  eye  roved  with  the 
appreciation  of  a  native  woodlover.  Sweet  smells, 
drifting  to  him  from  the  campakas  and  candanas, 
soothed  him  and  floated  his  fancy  along.  He  told 
himself  that  he  could  hear  the  minute  rustle  of  the 
sumana,  the  great  flowered  jessamine,  in  the  still 
air;  could  feel  the  fall  of  celectial  mandarava  blooms, 
as  upon  the  new-born  and  dying  Buddho,  and  with 
them  many  other  flowers,  from  kanaka  and  vakula, 
from  patali  and  punnaga. 

Greatest  of  all  the  forest,  the  Nigrodha,  banyan, 
spread  wide,  sheltering  his  numerous  projeny,  his 
support  in  old  age  yet  doomed  to  be  crushed  by  his 
fall.  Beside  him  fluttered  the  fairy-leaved  Assattha 
— the  Bodhirukkha — the  Wisdom  Tree,  under  which 
Gotamo  the  Sakiyan  had  persisted  through  fort 
nights  of  vigil  and  exertion,  like  Revato's  own,  to  a 
complete  victory.  It  was  not  insignificant  that 
Buddho's  tree  should  be  the  lady  of  the  woodland, 
for  she  represented  a  religion  whose  strength  lay 
where  woman's  virtues  do,  in  humility  and  for 
bearance. 

By  and  by,  the  hunger  of  Revato's  fasting  led  his 
imagination  to  trees  ministrant  of  food:  the  amba, 
the  jambu,  the  tinduka,  the  labuja  or  bread-fruit, 
and  the  banana.  After  them  he  came  to  the  bitter 
nimba,  at  which  his  thoughts  lingered  longer  then 
under  the  other  fructiferous  trees. 

Growing  round  about,  darkened  but  clear  to  the 
mind's  eye,  were  the  robust  trunks  of  teak  and  iron- 
wood,  while  on  yonder  mountain  side  thickened  a 
forest  of  sala.  At  the  picture  of  these  timber  trees, 
so  useful  to  builders  and  architects,  Revato's  heart 
leapt,  smitten  with  an  intrusive  emotion,  but  by 
forceful  habit  he  stifled  it.  He  turned  his  thoughts 


[8S 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


to  another  association  of  the  sala,  for  between  its 
twin-grown  trunks  had  been  laid  the  couch  of  the 
dying  Tathagato. 

Now  Revato's  heart  wandered  off  among  parijati- 
kas,  coral  trees,  and  simbalis,  the  soft  silk-cotton 
trees,  of  Nandana  garden  in  the  Heaven  of  Sense. 
Again,  it  returned  to  the  earthly  jungle  and  was 
contritely  fixed  upon  the  latas,  creeping  vines,  of 
many  sorts,  which  grew  as  tree  parasites,  twining 
and  tangling  upon  large,  strong  trunks  such  as  the 
sala,  spreading  them  over  with  gorgeous  flowers 
but  strangling  out  their  robust  lives  and  fating  them 
to  an  early  decay.  So  tanha,  craving,  climbs  and 
clings  about  mankind. 

He  felt  the  members  of  this  woodland  growth 
to  be  his  comrades,  citizens  with  himself  in  the 
mysterious  republic  of  life  and  linked  with  him  in 
further  relations  of  destiny  perhaps  deep  and  far- 
reaching.  He  envied  the  trees.  They  too  must 
decay,  but  they  would  never  know  it,  and  some  of 
them  might  survive  him  by  a  thousand  years. 
Theirs  was  the  beauty  of  life  without  its  misery  and 
dark  future,  for  had  not  Buddho  taught  that  they 
are  free  from  our  Wheel?  Yet  might  they  not  be  in 
a  wheel  of  their  own?  Did  their  prolific  vanity, 
like  that  of  the  sentient  world,  store  up  a  bad  kamma, 
reserved  to  work  out  retribution?  Could  desire 
permeate  even  their  insensibility?  These  were  hard 
questions. 

But  since  Revato  had  become  too  drowsy  to  hold 
himself  up  in  continued  self-reproach,  his  mind  fell 
off  upon  humble  low-growing  shrubs  such  as  the 
asoka  plant — the  bitterless. 

Anon  he  began  to  remember  old  tales  about  the 
spirits  that  are  sometimes  domiciled  in  trees,  and  how 
those  near  neighbors  of  our  houses  offer  us  many 
opportunities  for  reciprocal  kindness  and  helpfulness. 
From  these  and  other  stories,  dear  to  his  childhood, 
taught  by  the  monks  and  believed  by  the  people, 
issued  a  sylvan  population  of  gentle  fairies  and  fierce 
or  benevolent  monsters,  serpentine  Nagas  and 
devouring  Yakkhas,  winged  Garulas  and  musical 
Gandhabbas.  With  them  came  an  impulse  to 
acknowledge  their  reality — an  impulse  the  source 
and  association  of  which  he  did  not  recall,  but 
which  urged  him  to  a  naive  acceptance  of  this 
friendly  or  mischievous  company,  invisible  at  the 
moment  but  ever  lurking  and  liable  to  spring  out. 
It  was  with  a  bitter  sense  of  emptiness  that  his 
incredulity  dismissed  them. 

All  at  once,  Revato's  attention  was  drawn  by  his 
sense  of  hearing,  and  the  forest  became  to  him  alive 
with  noises  before  unnoticed.  Insects  and  birds, 
hairy  four-footed  creatures,  were  arousing  each  other 
by  their  nocturnal  voices.  Buzzing  around  were 
little  gnats,  gad-flies,  and  mosquitoes.  Jhallika, 
crickets,  chirped.  Confusedly  were  mingled  the 
"keka"  of  the  peacock;  the  "uhu"  of  the  uhunkara, 
hoot-maker — owl;  the  drum-beat  of  the  wood 
pecker;  the  gossip  of  the  parrot;  the  taunt  of  the 
kokila,  cuckoo;  the  mutual  warnings  of  monkeys  at 


approach  of  a  snake;  the  crackling  dash  of  deer;  the 
clumsy  tramp  of  an  elephant.  From  afar  came  the 
gurgling  note  of  the  hangsa,  wild  goose,  or  the  ruddy 
goose,  the  vakkanga.  There  might  be  heard  also  the 
howls  of  more  ferocious  beasts — boars,  wild  dogs, 
jackals,  hyenas  or  tigers. 

Some  deep-voiced  animal  would  call  to  its  mate 
in  tones  of  loving  passion.  A  little  sari  bird  shrieked 
in  the  claws  of  a  sakunagghi,  hawk,  which  was 
carrying  it  off  to  be  devoured  by  her  offspring,  for 
their  nourishment  and  growth,  that  soon  they  might 
go  forth  from  the  nest,  mate  and  raise  future  broods 
of  hawks  to  be  fed  on  other  little  birds. 

Their  tunes  were  many  but  their  song  was  one,  the 
song  of  life,  life  abounding,  life  exuberant,  life 
jubilant  in  the  fresh,  expansive  winter  season,  eager 
to  perpetuate  and  multiply  itself,  eager  to  increase 
by  destroying  others. 

Within  the  compass  of  Revato's  ear  clamoured 
the  population  of  a  world,  type  and  parcel  of  still 
larger  worlds,  all  full  of  the  same  fatuous  craving, 
striving  and  attainment — mamayita  kama — the 
lust  of  self.  This  hour  an  ecstasy  of  self-realization, 
the  next  spoliation,  anguish,  decay  and  death;  but 
in  death,  life  continued  to  repeat  the  same  round  of 
production,  suffering  and  dissolution,  ever  increasing 
as  it  rolls  on. 

All  playful  imaginations,  all  self-magnifications, 
in  Revato  were  chased  away  by  pity — pity  unlimited 
in  its  breadth  and  height  and  depth,  by  which  he  was 
himself  included,  but  only  as  one  among  the  myriads, 
brother  to  the  meanest  glow-worm  on  the  grass. 

His  mind  reverted  to  the  beginningless  past  from 
which  he  believed  he  had  come  up  through  every 
one  of  these  forms  of  sentient  life  around  him, 
feeling  in  succession  all  their  joys  and  woes.  Thus, 
by  imagination,  if  not  by  supernal  vision,  he  attained 
to  the  Saint's  miraculous  retrospect,  and  this  became 
generalized  as  the  Divine  Eye,  which  rested  not  on 
merely  personal  experiences,  but  through  them 
watched  the  flow  and  permutation  of  all  the  universe. 

Ineffably  sad  as  were  these  dreamy  fancies,  they 
shaded  off  into  peace,  and  thence  his  emotion  began 
to  rise  deliciously.  Bliss  pervaded  him,  as  of  the 
Deva  worlds  long  ago  passed  through,  or  perhaps 
the  joy  of  forgotten  infancy.  All  sorrow  melted 
into  happiness,  and  this  moved  with  an  assured 
rhythm. 

Finally  the  melody  assumed  a  definite,  vocal 
character.  It  came  from  far  in  the  distance,  a  sound 
which  was  not  of  the  forest  denizens.  It  arose  from 
the  limit  of  audition  and  swelled  out  as  it  drew  nearer. 
The  sound  was  a  song  in  men's  voices  accompanied 
by  reedy  pipes.  Closer  it  approached,  until  the 
words  became  distinguishable,  words  in  a  foreign 
tongue,  yet  not  unheard  before: 

"Flowing  with  milk  is  the  ground,  and  with  wine  it  is  flowing,  and 

flowing 

Nectar  of  bees;  and  a  smoke,  as  of  incense  of  Araby  soars; 
And  the  Bacchanal,  lifting  the  flame  of  the  pine,  ruddy-glowing, 
Waveth  it  wide,  and  with  shouts,  from  the  point  of  the  wand  as  it 

pours, 


[86] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


Challenges  revellers  straying,  on-racing,  on-dancing,  and  throwing 
Loose  to  the  breezes  his  curls,  while  clear  through  the  chorus  that 

roars, 
Cleaveth  his  shout." 

Now  shone  the  glare  of  torches.  Onward  came 
the  bearers  along  a  pathless  way,  dashing  through 
the  thickets  and  clambering  over  rocks.  They  were 
passing  Revato,  within  the  distance  to  which  an 
average  man  can  throw  a  clod  of  earth  —  a  group 
of  bearded  males  in  the  dress  of  women,  mantled 
with  deer  skins.  Their  heads  were  crowned  with 
ivy  and  they  bore,  beside  the  torches  of  resinous 
wood,  wands  with  blunt,  conical  ends,  which  they 
brandished  to  their  shouts  of  "Evoe!  Evoe!"  Re 
sponsive  to  this  Euan  cry,  came  the  applause  of 
"Sadhu!  Sadhu!"  from  low-caste  natives  who 
followed  them. 

At  the  front  of  their  band  they  led  a  heifer  clad 
in  drapery  like  their  own,  which  beast  those  behind 
it  were  goading  and  prodding  with  their  wands 
to  urge  its  clumsy  gait  through  the  impeding  bushes. 

But  the  most  appalling  sight  was  an  emblem  borne 
aloft  by  the  foremost  of  the  party  —  a  vile  symbol 
recognizable  in  the  torchlight  as  having  been 
pilfered  from  the  gateway  of  a  neighboring  deva 
temple. 

Among  the  rioters  Revato  saw  several  whose  faces 
he  knew,  including  Nereus,  the  boatman,  and 
Aristocrates,  the  skilful  sculptor. 

"Re,  Re!  Tittha  re!  Hello,  hello!  Stop,  hello!" 
called  Revato. 

Aristocrates  slackened  his  pace. 

"Kuto  agato  'si  tvang?  —  Whence  comest  thou?" 
called  the  Layman." 


"H/c 


fK\nruv,   SV   otjirore 

|3oXa/," 


chanted  Aristocrates.  Then  he  repeated  in  the 
vernacular,  as  a  condescension  to  Revato's  ignorance 
of  the  nobler  tongue: 

"I  from  Kithairon  come,  where  never  fail 
The  glistening  silver  arrows  of  the  snow." 

By  that  time  he  and  the  humbler  oarsman,  now 
oblivious  of  differences  in  degree,  had  seized  Revato 
by  the  arms  with  violent  joviality  and  they  bore 
him  along  in  the  front  of  the  procession.  Singularly, 
he  offered  no  resistance.  They  pressed  to  his 
lips  a  flask  of  wine  and  he  drank  a  long  swallow 
of  the  unaccustomed  fluid,  which  went  to  his 
head  and  raised  him  from  the  depths  to  the  sum 
mit  of  the  world.  He  was  no  longer  tired,  he 
was  no  longer  sorrowful,  he  was  no  longer  digni 
fied;  he  was  filled  with  energy  to  vent  in  a  frantic 
dash  through  the  thickets  with  his  hilarious  com 
pany.  ^ 

Behind  them  straggled  a  party  of  disreputable 
pariahs  bearing  vessels  like  those  of  the  mysterious 
soma  cult,  in  which  doubtless  they  had  feigned  a 
membership  to  ally  themselves  with  the  Yonas 
in  bibulous  rites.  Revato  could  now  behold 


them  with  contemptuous  yet  kindly  amusement, 
which  did  not  detract  from  his  adventurous  en 
joyment. 

A  forced,  but  unreluctant,  convert  to  this  boister 
ous  forest  worship,  Revato's  heart  now  overflowed 
from  unsuspecting  springs  of  enthusiasm.  He  had 
become  a  participant  with  all  his  soul  in  this  festival 
to  the  amiable  woodland  deities;  in  a  celebration,  as 
they  would  have  mortals  celebrate,  of  the  fresh 
young  season  in  its  totality  of  verdure  and  in  its 
delicious  particular  manifestations. 

"Glad  on  the  mountains  is  the  worshipper 

When  from  swift  revel-bands 

Upon  the  earth  he  falls, 

Wearing  the  sacred  fawn-skin  robe,  and  thirsting 

For  blood  of  goats,  eating  with  joy  raw  flesh, 

Climbing  the  Phrygian  and  Lydian  mountains, 

But  Bromios  the  leader  is,  Evoe!"* 

Across  the  gullies  they  rushed,  along  their  sight 
less  path,  and  up  the  slopes  of  Gijjhakuta,  whose 
steepening  acclivity  they  now  were  fain  to  clamber 
more  laboriously;  sometimes  dropping  to  hands  and 
knees,  yet  ever  forging  onward.  A  luckless  Yona  was 
bitten  by  a  snake  and  fell  to  the  ground  in  shrieking 
terror.  His  companions  passed  on  without  stopping 
for  him,  but  an  enthusiast  seized  the  serpent  by  its 
neck  and  carried  it  along,  fondling  it. 

They  reached  the  lofty  open  space  on  the  moun 
tain  and  flung  down  their  torches  to  sputter  among 
the  rocks.  Then,  without  delay  or  ritual,  their 
leader  drove  a  knife  into  the  throat  of  the  panting 
heifer  and  the  impetuous  ones  rushed  to  drink 
her  blood  as  it  spouted,  hurling  themselves  pell- 
mell  and  fighting  with  each  other  no  less  than 
with  the  struggling  animal  for  the  thick,  warm 
beverage. 

Revato  recoiled  and  stood  for  a  moment  watching 
the  feast.  How  familiar  were  the  outlines  of  the 
surrounding  rocks  in  the  torchglare  and  moonlight! 
He  did  not  at  first  realize  the  reason;  then  there 
darted  through  him  a  memory  that  this  was  the 
hallowed  scene  of  Buddho's  meditations.  The 
recollection  thereof  struck  into  him  like  the  first 
agonizing  thrust  of  the  executioner's  stake. 

As  a  wretch  dragging  himself  away  though  trans 
fixed  by  the  impaling  timber,  he  fumbled  his  way 
toward  the  path  that  led  down  the  ravine  to 
the  old  city  and  looked  not  back  after  his  raving 
associates. 

Yet  their  voices  followed  him.  The  more  moder 
ate  among  them  still  carried  by  the  grand  enthusi 
asm  of  the  orgy,  rather  than  by  its  beastliness  and 
abominations,  continued  with  their  disciplined 
voices  to  chaunt  the  chorus: 


"  'iKol/Miv  irorl 
vaaov  Ta 
Iv  if  Oc\£l<t>povet  vffMv- 
rai  Ovaroiffiv  'Epwrej  — 

*This  is  in  Kerr's  versification,  the  foregoing  two  quotations 
are  Way's  and  the  final  one  the  author's. 


[87] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


"Hence,  Oh  I'd  hie  me  to  Cyprus, 

Isle  of  the  Foam-born  Goddess, 

Range  of  desirous  Erotes, 

Skilful  in  mortal  enchantments! 

Fruitful  its  rainless  meadows, 

Moist  in  the  mazily  flowing 

Streams  of  an  alien  river. 

What  still  is  the  crown-land  of  beauty? 

Pieria,  holden  of  Muses, 

Slope  of  Majestic  Olympus. 

There  shalt  thou  bring  me,  O  Bromios, 


Bromios,  first  of  the  Bacchanals, 
Lord  where  the  Euan  cry  soundeth. 
There,  with  the  Graces,  desire  also  dwelleth, 
There  Bacchanals  revel  in  rites  unforbidden." 

The  words  were  strange  but  the  melody  was  a  suf 
ficient  interpreter  to  him  of  their  yearning  aspiration 
and  freedom.  This  parting  song  remained  with  him 
as  a  reality  while  all  other  experiences  of  the  past 
day  and  evening  slunk  away  like  a  nightmare. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
YUGANTAVATO— THE  AEON-ENDING  TEMPEST 


Before  the  horse  dealer  Assamusavadiko,  of  New 
Rajagaha,  had  given  his  merchandise  its  morning 
nutriment,  he  beheld  at  his  gate  Revato,  the  Cus 
toms  Collector,  who  addressed  him  in  hasty  words: 

"Re!  sappuriso,  my  good  fellow,  how  many 
yojanas  can  your  best  horse  travel  in  a  day?" 

"My  horse  Vayu,  Sir,  can  travel  twelve  yojanas 
in  a  day,  Sir,  without  sweating  beyond  the  saddle." 

"What  is  his  price?" 

"Two  thousand  five  hundred  kahapanas,  Sir." 

"Bring  him  here  at  once,  ready  to  mount.  You 
may  call  at  my  office  for  the  money!" 

"Sadhu,  Sadhu!"  exclaimed  the  trader,  amazed  at 
such  simplicity  in  driving  a  bargain  and  fearful  lest 
it  would  be  reconsidered  before  payment. 

The  horse  Vayu  was  accordingly  fetched,  with  sad 
dle  and  bridle.  Silently  Revato  sprang  upon  him 
and  galloped  away. 

A  familiar  bark  sounded  at  his  heels.  It  was  the 
voice  of  Dukkho. 

"Apagaccha,  Apagaccha — go  away,  go  away!" 
commanded  Revato.  I  have  permitted  thee  to 
follow  me  everywhere  else  this  whole  year.  Here  thou 
canst  not  come.  Yahi,  yahi — go,  go!" 

On  through  the  streets  he  coursed  while  the 
startled  burghers  rushed  to  their  doors  to  stare 
after  him,  till  he  reached  the  northern  gate.  Through 
that  gate  he  had  passed  in  the  same  direction,  almost 
exactly  a  year  before,  in  how  different  a  frame  of 
mind  toward  how  different  a  world! 

As  a  result  of  chance  coincidence  contributed  to 
by  the  perennial  regularity  of  monastic  habits,  the 
Venerable  Kondanno  and  the  Venerable  Bharad 
vajo  were  starting  out  that  same  day  for  their 
annual  Fall  countryside  wanderings.  Revato  over 
took  them  less  than  half  a  yojana  beyond  the  new 
town.  Coming  up  to  them  on  a  rough  gallop,  he 
dismounted  and  placed  Vayu's  bridle  in  Bharad- 
vajo's  hand. 

"Ride  him  for  me,  bhante.  I  cannot  proceed  in 
this  way  any  longer.  I  am  in  too  great  a  hurry, 
I  will  run  on  foot." 

"You  know,  avuso,  that  it  is  unlawful  for  me  to 
ride,"  answered  Bharadvajo. 


"Then  lead  the  beast.  For  I  have  no  time  to 
wait  the  procrastinations  of  horses." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"ToPataliputta." 

"Turn  back,  my  son,  turn  back." 

"I  cannot." 

"Take  this  warning, "  groaned  Bharadvajo:  "Last 
night  the  Evil  One,  Namuci  Maro  and  his  frightful 
host  beset  me  in  my  hut  on  the  Vulture's  Peak,  as 
they  did  the  Blessed  One  in  his  exertions  by  the 
river  Neranjara.  And  what  form  do  you  think  they 
assumed?  They  appeared  as  Yonakas.  Turn  back, 
my  son,  oh  turn  back,"  and  the  Venerable  Bharad 
vajo  began  to  weep. 

Nothing,  however,  might  now  restrain  Revato. 
In  such  frantic  restlessness  that  he  could  not  con 
tent  himself  with  the  passivity  of  an  equestrian,  he 
compelled  upon  Venerable  Bharadvajo  the  custody 
of  Vayu  and  forged  ahead  by  strides  which  soon 
distanced  him  from  the  clerical  party. 

Estimate  the  possibilities  of  such  a  nervous 
energy,  its  first  intensity,  its  power  of  endurance 
under  early  winter  skies,  and  credibility  will  admit 
that  he  covered  the  twelve  yojanas  of  road  to 
Pataliputta  by  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day. 

The  Hirannabahu  river,  where  he  met  it,  was  in 
greater  flood  than  the  year  before  and  he  had 
difficulty  in  getting  past  the  overflowed  region. 

Arrived  at  the  grounds  of  the  palace,  he  passed 
the  office  of  his  friend  Dabbo  Kumaputto,  the 
Dhammayutta,  who  hailed  him  from  within  with  a 
vociferous  greetings,  then  added  in  a  lower  tone: 

"A  prudent  measure  on  your  part,  Revato,  to  come 
and  pay  your  respects  to  the  Regent  thus  early!" 

"The  Regent?" 

"Yes,  haven't  you  heard.  Dasaratho  has  been  in 
control  these  five  days." 

"But  what  of  the  Great  King  Asoko." 

"He  is  Great  King  still,  but  in  name  only.  They 
will  conceal  the  true  situation  from  him  if  possible. 
For  the  present,  Dasaratho  calls  himself  merely 
Yuvaraja,  Junior  King." 

"And  what  will  this  lead  to?" 


[88] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


"A  gradual  change  of  policy,  no  doubt,  a  return 
to  former  conditions.  Dasaratho  has  announced 
that  he  does  not  pretend  to  be  wiser  than  all  other 
rulers  of  the  earth  in  methods  of  governing  a  people. 
The  chief  innovation  at  present  is  in  the  royal 
almonry  office.  The  Treasury  will  not  hereafter  be 
impoverished  to  fatten  unworthy  incompetents 
whether  animals  or  human  beings.  Donations  to 
religious  orders  will  be  somewhat  differently  dis 
tributed.  In  fact,  some  attempt  may  be  made  to 
compensate  for  partiality  shown  to  ours  in  the  past." 

"Yes,   for  instance?" — prompted   Revato. 

"The  new  Yonaka  building  on  the  Island,"  said 
Dabbo,  "which  was  intended  as  a  sangharama  for 
our  Sakiyaputtlya  samanas  will  be  turned  over  to 
the  Niganthas,  who  will  convert  the  sala  into  a 
temple  of  gods." 

"But  that  would  destroy  the  significance  of  its 
plan  and  decorations  to  which  so  much  skill  and 
pains  have  been  devoted." 

"Tata — my  dear  friend" — said  Dabbo,  "you 
and  I  as  public  office  holders  by  favor  of  the  Court, 
believe  that  it  will  not  destroy  the  significance  of 
plan  and  decoration,  but  rather  that  it  will  adapt 
the  building  to  the  appropriate  use  for  which  it  was 
unwittingly  conceived  and  which  has  remained  for 
the  Yuvaraja  Dasaratho  by  his  luminous  wisdom  to 
discover." 

Revato  was  so  angered  at  this  temporizing  speech 
as  to  sacrifice  all  further  gratifications  of  his  curiosity 
by  Dabbo.  He  proceeded  at  once  to  the  house  of 
Diomedes. 

At  the  architect's  door  Revato  knocked  repeatedly 
with  the  ring  in  the  lion's  mouth,  but  could  obtain 
no  answer.  Finally  a  neighbor  woman  called  from  a 
window  across  the  way  and  told  him  that  she  thought 
no  one  was  at  home.  During  the  past  few  days  she 
had  seen  many  carts  loaded  there  with  strongly 
bound  bundles  presumably  filled  with  household 
chattels.  That  day  she  had  observed  nothing  but  the 
closed  port. 

Forthwith  Revato  went  down  to  the  river  bank  at 
Gotamo's  Ferry  where  the  lonians  had  been  wont 
to  embark  for  the  island.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
he  realized  the  magnitude  of  the  freshet.  The 
tributary  rivers  reaching  to  lands  which  only  his 
fancy  knew,  had  collected,  from  the  late  unprec 
edented  rains,  huge  volumes  of  water  which,  after 
long  transit,  were  now  being  crowded  into  the  throat 
of  Ganga  to  be  spilled  over  the  lowlands.  Already 
a  higher  stage  had  been  reached  than  for  many  years, 
several  of  the  city  streets  were  inundated  and  the 
flood  was  rapidly  rising. 

The  wharf  at  which  the  Yonaka  boats  had  been 
moored  was  visible  only  in  its  highest  reach  of  bank. 
Their  larger  boat  lay  there  now,  but  the  little  Water 
Nagl  craft  was  missing.  Revato  found  the  old 
ferryman  Naditariko  but  could  obtain  from  him  no 
important  information  concerning  the  foreigners. 

"Make  ready  your  boat  and  row  me  to  the 
island,"  commanded  Revato. 


"Impossible,  Sir.  Look  at  those  waves;  see  how 
those  trees  go  down  the  stream.  We  should  be 
swept  to  destruction." 

"Rent  me  your  boat  then  at  any  figure  and  I  will 
go  alone." 

Revato  thrust  into  the  poor  man's  hand  a  gold 
suvanna  which  was  almost  enough  to  buy  the  vessel 
outright;  then  against  tears  and  prayers  of  the 
terrified  owner,  he  launched  into  the  rapids. 

To  reach  the  island  or  fail,  was  a  matter  quick  of 
decision.  The  current  would  bear  him  down  upon 
it  in  almost  no  time  if  by  a  few  vigorous  paddle 
strokes  he  could  supply  the  cross  component  of 
motion. 

Fortune  and  alertness  favored  him.  Before  he 
realized  it,  his  keel,  impelled  by  the  momentum  of 
the  passage,  was  scraping  far  over  the  submerged 
reeds  of  the  island  shore.  The  water  had  risen 
about  the  vihara  walls  and  flooded  the  courts  so 
that  Revato  pushed  his  boat  through  the  gate  into 
the  first  quadrangle.  He  noticed  the  thupa  in  the 
middle,  which  did  not  seem  much  higher  built  than  a 
year  before,  yet  which  a  second  glance  showed  to 
be  substantially  progressing.  The  gateway  lead 
ing  into  the  second  court  was  sufficiently  unob 
structed  to  let  the  boat  pass. 

This  yard  was  still  unenclosed  at  the  further  end, 
so  that  one  looked  down  the  river  over  a  broad  sur 
face  of  continuous  water.  Even  through  the  court, 
the  outward  flow  was  strong.  In  the  centre  the 
sala  rose  out  of  the  flood.  To  a  column  of  its  porch 
was  moored  the  little  Nagl  boat  so  familiar  to 
Revato.  He  brought  his  own  alongside  and  dragged 
it  part  way  up  the  flagging,  where  it  stuck  so  fast 
that  he  did  not  stop  to  tie  it. 

Through  water  ankle  deep  on  the  porch,  Revato 
made  his  way  to  the  open  door  of  the  chapter  house 
and  entered. 

Since  his  first  and  only  previous  visit  to  the  build 
ing,  just  one  year  ago,  its  aspect  had  not  greatly 
changed;  the  scaffolding  and  debris  remained;  but 
close  observation,  even  in  that  dim  light,  showed  an 
advancement  in  detail  and  trimming.  Apparently 
the  edifice  was  now  in  a  condition  where  little  but 
removal  of  the  rubbish  was  needed  to  reveal  its 
perfection. 

The  sublime,  false  Buddho  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  was  seated  with  full  majesty  upon  his  throne. 
Around  were  fittings  and  massive  furniture  of  pre 
cious  and  fragrant  woods,  some  of  which,  as  Revato 
guessed,  had  been  growing  last  year  upon  the 
Rajagaha  hills. 

All  at  once  the  house  became  resonant  with  a 
mournful  sound,  a  man's  deep  voice  full  of  unwonted 
emotion.  It  was  the  voice  of  Diomedes,  the  archi 
tect,  who  lay  prostrate  before  his  fair  statue.  In 
his  own  tongue,  uncomprehended  by  Revato,  rang 
out  his  suppliant  words.  His  tones  were  almost  theat 
rically  modulated,  yet  glowed  with  a  fervor  which 
attested  his  ardor.  He  wept  as  Revato  had  thought  it 
shame  in  a  man  to  weep,  yet  not  in  a  stage  beyond 


[89] 


THE         LAYMAN         REVATO 


self-control,  but  as  one  in  whom  the  seasonable  expres 
sion  of  strong  feeling  is  part  of  a  life  system.  Prayer 
of  anguish  and  adoration  Revato  felt  him  to  be  utter 
ing,  prayer  to  the  stone  figure  that  his  own  brain 
had  imagined  and  in  fashioning  which  his  own  hand 
had  wrought.  Why  had  he  deserted  his  country's 
gods  to  worship  the  false  likeness  of  a  man  who 
contemned  all  gods? 

And  yet  there  was  in  the  demeanor  of  Diomedes 
something  which  not  only  spoke  of  dignity  but 
whispered  of  truth.  Was  it  foolishly  that  in  such 
distress  he  sought  a  companionship  other  than  of 
flesh  and  blood?  For  an  object  to  which  he  might 
appeal,  what  would  suffice  but  the  highest  that  he 
knew?  And  had  not  the  highest  that  he  knew  been 
put  into  that  image?  Even  Revato  could  detect 
something  of  its  loftiness,  and  what  was  he  to  meas 
ure  the  soul  of  Diomedes? 

To  interrupt  the  devotions  would  have  been  a 
crudity  unworthy  of  a  pariah.  Revato  therefore 
waited  in  silence,  afraid  to  make  any  further 
motion.  He  had  not,  however,  reckoned  upon  the 
protractedness  of  Diomedes'  orisons,  which  continued 
until  the  building  darkened  by  twilight  and  by  a 
thunderstorm  audible  within. 

Before  the  end,  Revato  felt  a  warm,  moist  object 
on  his  hand  and  discovered  it  to  be  the  tongue  of 
Dukkho.  His  dog  must  have  tracked  him  all  the 
way  to  Pataliputta  and  swum  the  raging  river,  as 
its  bedraggled  hide  evidenced.  Revato  quieted  him 
with  one  of  those  expressive  touches  which  suffice 
between  sympathetic  natures,  and  they  waited 
together. 

At  last  the  architect  rose  to  his  feet.  From  a 
recess  below  the  statue  he  drew  a  lighted  lamp 
which  he  elevated  and  waved  before  the  Buddho 
with  ritual  solemnity  such  as  Revato  had  often 
observed  through  the  doors  of  Brahmin  temples. 
Then  bending  to  the  floor,  he  applied  the  lamp 
flame  to  a  heap  of  shavings.  A  sacrificial  altar 
perhaps.  If  so,  an  innocent  one,  for  upon  it  lay  no 
fleshly  being. 

Fire  burst  out  and  spread.  Revato  noticed  that  it 
had  been  built  among  inflammables  leading  to  the 
woodwork  of  the  building.  Beside  the  scaffolding, 
there  were  other  combustibles — frame  and  trim,  such 
as  rafters,  beams,  door  jambs,  window  frames — 
enough,  if  burned,  to  ruin  the  structure.  Could  it 
be  Diomedes'  intention  to  immolate  this  daughter 
as  dear  to  him  as  his  first  born?  The  fire's  progress 
soon  left  no  doubt  of  it. 

With  his  ethical  philosophy  of  the  moment,  Revato 
pondered  his  proper  course  of  action.  The  destruc 
tion  of  so  much  property  was  inherently  wrong,  for 
it  meant  so  much  waste  of  a  value  that  might  have 
been  used  to  relieve  distress.  True,  the  Buddho 
image  was  misleading  and  evil  and  capable  of  no 
good  use,  but  it  was  a  minor  feature  of  the  edifice 
and  possible  of  elimination.  True,  also,  the  Nigan- 
tha  ascetics  to  whom  the  building  was  about  to  be 
transferred  were  tainted  with  gross  errors,  but  there 


was  much  good  in  them  nevertheless,  and  were  they 
as  depraved  as  Namuci  Maro,  it  would  be  no  sin 
to  give  them  a  sheltering  roof.  Plainly  therefore  it 
was  a  duty  to  save  the  building. 

Salvage  of  property,  Revato  felt,  ought  not  to  be 
made  if  it  necessitated  a  dangerous  attack  upon 
human  life  or  limb.  But  this  did  not  preclude 
forcible  restraint  if  it  could  be  executed  harmlessly. 

Rushing  to  the  end  of  the  hall,  Revato  thrust  the 
bonfire  away  from  the  igniting  woodwork,  then 
grasped  Diomedes  by  the  wrists  with  all  the  strength 
at  his  command.  He  might  as  well  have  tried  to 
fetter  torrential  Ganga.  With  a  single  contemptu 
ous  motion,  like  his  prototype  Herakles,  the  reputed 
builder  of  Pataliputta,  Diomedes  shook  off  Revato, 
who  fell  into  a  heap  of  rubbish.  The  architect's 
next  act  was  to  repair  the  damage  done  to  his  incen 
diary  enterprise,  after  which,  in  the  light  of  the 
reviving  flames,  he  scrutinized  the  countenance  of 
Revato,  who  by  that  time  was  risen  to  his  feet. 

"Ah!  Revato,  the  Layman.  This  is  a  pleasant 
surprise.  Be  assured  that  I  appreciate  your  con 
scientious  motives.  It  was  a  disappointment  not 
to  find  you  in  Rajagaha." 

The  last  remark  was  uttered  in  a  tone  which  made 
Revato  cringe.  What  could  be  said  after  that? 
Revato  slunk  to  the  door,  intending  to  find  his 
boat.  He  had  not  counted  on  the  change  of  condi 
tions  since  his  entry.  Utter  darkness  prevailed  and 
his  face  was  smitten  by  dashes  of  rain  tangled  up  in 
wind.  Stepping  out,  he  found  himself  knee-deep  in 
rushing  water.  Only  by  clutching  at  railings  could 
he  move  about  with  any  safety.  It  was  impossible 
to  reach  the  place  where  he  had  left  his  boat.  A 
flash  of  lightning  showed  him  the  empty  spot  from 
which  it  had  gone  adrift  and  he  perceived  that 
Diomedes'  craft  had  also  broken  loose.  Apparently 
there  was  no  escape  from  the  building. 

He  rushed  back  into  the  hall  where  the  fire  had 
already  gained  indefeasible  mastery.  One  side  of  the 
room  was  shrouded  with  flames.  It  was  no  time  to 
dwell  on  bitterness. 

"Do  you  intend  to  perish  with  your  handiwork?" 
he  asked  the  architect. 

"Not  I.    My  boat  awaits  me." 

"You  are  mistaken.  It  has  been  carried  away  by 
the  flood  and  so  has  mine." 

It  was  then  that  the  infinite  worldly  wisdom  of 
the  architect  suffered  abasement.  He  realized  that 
he  had  made  a  foolish  blunder  and  that  the  conse 
quences  might  be  serious. 

"  For  myself  I  have  no  wish  to  live,  but  I  would  not 
leave  my  daughter  alone  in  this  barbarous  land." 

"Let  us  try  to  extinguish  the  fire,"  said  Revato. 

"It  has  taken  too  firm  hold  to  tempt  my  weakness 
thus,"  answered  Diomedes.  "Better  let  me  die 
than  that  this,  my  younger  child,  be  perverted  from 
the  divine  purpose  for  which  she  is  by  nature  fitted. 
— Yet  why  need  we  perish?  If  we  remain  nere  we 
can  evade  the  fire  and  run  no  greater  risk  than  of  a 
little  dampness." 


[90] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


The  three  waited  side  by  side  and  watched  the 
progress  of  the  conflagration.  As  the  flames  illum 
ined  the  face  of  the  false  Buddho  image,  they  seemed 
to  evoke  a  hellish  character  which  had  been  occulted 
in  the  twilit  stone. 

Hotter  grew  the  interior  of  the  sala.  The  men  and 
dog  retreated  towards  its  vestibule.  The  water 
outside  had  reached  the  floor  level  and  was  trickling 
in,  to  rise  at  the  further  end  in  hissing  clouds  which 
mingled  with  the  smoke.  There  came  also  the 
sharper  hissing  of  snakes,  at  first  refugees  from  the 
flood  and  now  fugitives  from  the  fire. 

Then  a  thunderbolt  crashed  through  the  roof  and 
split  midwise  the  Buddho  statue,  which  dropped 
apart  on  either  side  of  its  throne.* 

"Zeus  has  wreaked  the  vengeance  of  the  jealous 
Immortals,"  said  Diomedes. 

A  fragment  of  scaffolding  fell  on  Dukkho  and 
crushed  his  leg.  He  howled  miserably.  Revato 
could  lighten  his  pain  only  by  compassion. 

"Hark!  Aristocrates!  Aristocrates!"  cried  the 
architect,  and  darted  to  the  door. 

There  entered  several  Ionian  builders,  the  same 
whom  Revato  had  left  in  the  orgy  on  the  Vulture's 
Peak.  They  had  come  in  the  large  boat  seeking  their 
master. 

Outside,  the  rest  of  the  crew  waited  on  board, 
having  thrown  a  line  around  a  porch  column. 

In  the  bow,  revealed  by  the  glow  through  the 
doorway,  crouched  Prote,  shielding  her  shoulders 
from  the  rain  with  a  workman's  mantle,  while  her 
hair  streamed  in  the  wind. 

"Revato,"  he  thought  he  heard  her  say,  before 
he  had  any  idea  of  her  recognition. 

He  plunged  through  the  water  and  stood  holding 
the  side  of  the  vessel. 

"Revato,  if  you  are  coming  ashore,  get  into  the 
boat,"  commanded  Diomedes  with  little  patience. 

"I  have  left  my  dog  in  the  sala.  Wait  till  I 
fetch  him." 

"Pshaw!     Be  quick  about  it." 

Aristocrates  then  excitedly  spoke  a  few  words  in 
Ionian  to  his  master.  They  evidently  conveyed 
some  reason  for  great  haste,  since  Diomedes  cried: 

"We  cannot  waste  an  instant  more.  Will  you 
leave  the  dog  or  shall  we  leave  you?" 

*Since  writing  this  paragraph,  I  have  noticed  a  similar  idea 
in  a  poem  by  Rabindranath  Tagore. 


"I  will  take  my  chances  with  the  dog,"  answered 
Revato. 

The  oarsmen  had  held  their  blades  poised  to  take 
the  water.  Awaiting  no  further  order,  they  now 
swung  a  concerted  stroke  which  shot  the  craft  out 
into  the  swift  current. 

In  a  flash  of  lightning  Revato  caught  the  last 
glimpse  of  Prote.  Her  words  to  him,  if  any  she 
spake,  were  lost.  But  e'er  the  tempest  drowned  all 
hearing,  her  voice  arose  shrilly  audible  with  a  snatch 
from  one  of  those  suttas  which  she  had  taught  him 
to  understand: 

"O  lamp-bearing  Day,  and  thou  portant 
Gleam  of  God,  before  me  afresh  and  afar, 

Lies  a  new  land,  a  new  destiny. 
Farewell  to  thee,  dear  Light." 

And  now,  left  along  with  his  dog,  Revato  had  made 
the  choice  of  the  pilgrim  king  in  the  epic  of  his  race. 
Perhaps  for  him  it  was  less  a  courage  toward  the 
hazards  of  the  Undiscovered  Country  than  a  con 
fidence  in  present  remaining  resource. 

In  quick  execution  of  his  plans,  he  lugged  to  the 
door  of  the  building  some  boards  and  rope  sufficient 
for  a  raft  that  would  support  him  and  the  dog. 
This  he  built  as  Odysseus  had  constructed  his  float 
to  venture  upon  the  many-waved  sea  from  the 
island  of  Calypso.  Having  finished  his  raft,  Revato 
fastened  it  to  the  porch,  thinking  that  perhaps  he 
could  remain  till  morning. 

The  fire,  however,  crept  to  the  vestibule,  out  of 
which  poured  flames  that  rendered  lodgment  un 
tenable.  The  roof  crashed  in.  Volumes  of  flame 
belched  upward  and  sparks  flew  above  them.  Indo 
was  battling  against  Aggi,  but  to-night  the  trans 
cendent  Sky  God  had  become  powerless  against  the 
Fire  Deity. 

Outside,  the  current  was  rushing  violently,  for  it 
had  broken  down  large  portions  of  the  vihara  walls 
and  was  sweeping  directly  across  the  sangharama, 
which  thus  had  become  virtually  a  part  of  the  open 
river.  The  foundations  of  the  sala  itself  were 
cracking. 

Revato  concluded  to  delay  no  longer,  but  lashed 
himself  fast  upon  the  float  with  the  whining  Dukkho. 
Thus  he  committed  himself  as  it  were,  to  the  Vala- 
bhamukha — to  the  trough  of  the  ocean  about  Mount 
Sineru  when  smitten  by  the  storm  of  an  epoch. 


CHAPTER  XV 
SALVAGE 


Now  it  was  so,  that  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo 
and  the  Venerable  Kondanno,  after  being  passed  by 
Revato  on  the  road  from  Rajagaha,  had  continued 
their  journey  toward  Pataliputta.  Bharadvajo  was 
leading  the  horse  Vayu  by  the  bridle  which  Revato 
had  placed  in  his  hand. 


"Why  do  you  not  ride,  bhante?"  inquired 
Kondanno. 

"Why  should  I  shift  my  labor  upon  another? 
The  horse  has  its  own  weight  to  carry  as  I  have 
mine.  Moreover,  would  it  not  be  contrary  to  the 
commandment?" 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


"If  you  do  not  care  to  ride,  bhante,"  said  Kon- 
danno,  "then  I  will.  Did  not  Bhagava  freely  allow 
that  a  mendicant  may,  if  he  choose,  'walk  on  the 
water  without  dividing  it,  as  if  on  solid  ground,  or 
may  travel  cross-legged  through  the  sky  like  birds 
on  wing'?  The  name  of  this  animal  is  Vayu,  Wind; 
surely,  therefore,  I  shall  be  following  the  Blessed 
One's  words  if  I  fly  over  the  earth  upon  him." 

"As  you  see  fit,  bhante,"  assented  Bharadvajo. 
"Perhaps  it  is  better  that  you  should  ride,  since 
four  feet  will  destroy  the  lives  of  less  tiny  beings 
than  six."  So  Kondanno  mounted  the  horse. 
_  As  they  went  along_,  the  Venerable  Kondanno 
riding  while  Bharadvajo  walked  beside  him,  the 
people  whom  they  met  turned  and  looked  hard  at 
the  younger  monk. 

"Shameless,"  they  cried,  "is  this  Sakyaputtlya 
Samana — this  samanako — contemptible  ascetic! 
Wicked  is  he.  How  can  he  profess  to  be  walking  in 
the  Dhamma,  walking  religiously,  truthful,  virtuous 
and  excellent?  Not  for  him  is  Samanaship!  Not  for 
him  is  Brahmanaship!*  No  concern  of  his  in 
Samanaship!  No  concern  of  his  in  Brahmanaship! 
Wherein  is  his  Samanaship?  Wherein  is  his  Brah 
manaship?  Lost  is  his  Samanaship!  Lost  is  his  Brah 
manaship!  Dussilo  vata  bho! — Alas  how  wicked! 
The  younger  man  rides  while  the  old  man  walks." 

Kondanno  did  not  like  the  murmuring  of  the 
people,  but  he  continued  to  ride  until  they  came  to  a 
pool  on  the  bank  of  an  overflowed  stream.  Then 
thought  Kondanno:  "I  will  apply  that  part  of  the 
Blessed  One's  permission  which  relates  to  water;  I 
will  ride  Vayu  through  the  pond." 

In  the  middle  Vayu  hesitated,  then  stopped  and 
began  to  paw  the  water  with  his  off  front  foot. 
Kondanno,  being  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of 
horses,  indolently  commanded  Vayu  to  proceed; 
instead  of  which  the  animal  lay  down  and  rolled  in 
the  pond,  compelling  his  rider  to  do  likewise.  After 
that  Kondanno  preferred  to  walk,  allowing  Bharad 
vajo  to  lead  Vayu. 

The  bhikkhus  this  year  did  not  follow  the  direct 
road  to  Pataliputta  but  thinking  to  encounter  less 
difficulty  from  floods,  they  fetched  a  compass  several 
yojanas  to  the  eastward,  past  the  Kapotika  San- 
gharama,  the  Pigeon  Monastery.  This  had  been 
built  by  Asoko  in  commemoration  of  the  event  when 
Bodhisatto,  assuming  the  form  of  that  bird,  had 
given  to  himself  to  save  the  life  of  a  fowler's  family. 
From  that  point  the  mendicants  turned  northward 
to  strike  Ganga  nadi  a  yojana  or  two  below  the 
Capital.  The  second  night  they  spent  in  the  open 
and  were  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  storm  of  light 
ning,  wind  and  rain.  Kondanno  fretted  not  a  little 
at  the  drenching,  winced  at  each  flash  and  began  to 
confess  his  sins  at  every  thunder  clap,  but  Bharad 
vajo  comforted  himself  with  gathas  of  stoical  old 
saints: 

*Brahmanaship  here  denotes  neither  Brahmin  caste  nor 
Brahmin  religion  but  Buddhist  sainthood.  He  is  a  Brahmin  that 
is  one  inwardly. 


"They  clamor  in  the  bellowing  air, 

Like  artisans  in  sound; 
My  heart  is  kept  without  a  care 

In  unity  profound. 

"The  lightnings  dart,  the  winds  are  shrill, 

And  groans  the  shaken  ground; 
They  grow  by  contemplation  still, 

And  calm  is  all  around. 

"The  deva  rains  like  rippling  song; 

With  sweet  humility 
My  lodge  is  roofed;  my  heart  is  strong. 

Then,  Cloud-God,  rain  on  me." 

Early  in  the  morning  they  passed  on  to  the  shore 
of  Ganga.  Falling  still  were  a  few  sparse,  belated 
drops  of  the  storm,  and  in  the  west  curved  the  many- 
colored  Indadhanu — the  bow  of  Indo.  Along  the 
flooded  banks  were  lodged  numerous  trees  and 
fragments  of  dwellings;  also  corpses  of  cattle  and 
mankind  already  fouling  the  air. 

Presently  Bharadvajo  heard  the  howling  of  a  dog, 
and  coming  closer,  found  a  raft  of  boards  whereto  the 
animal  was  tied,  as  was  also  the  body  of  a  man, 
apparently  dead.  The  man  was  the  Layman 
Revato. 

The  mendicants  set  their  unconscious  friend  upon 
his  horse  together  with  his  broken-legged  dog,  and 
continued  their  way  toward  the  Cock  Garden 
Monastery.  Before  they  had  gone  far  the  motion  of 
the  journey  restored  in  Revato  some  sign  of  life, 
whereupon  they  halted  and  treated  him  as  best  they 
could  before  proceeding. 

Upon  arrival,  the  two  invalids  were  assigned 
to  the  infirmary  where  they  were  assiduously  cared 
for  by  a  monk  who,  before  leaving  the  world,  had 
been  court  physician.  Dukkho  was  soon  around 
again — on  three  legs;  the  fourth  dropped  off.  Revato 
also  was  skilfully  treated  with  steam  and  medicated 
baths,  anointing,  massage  and  stimulation  by 
aromatic  vapors  in  his  nostrils,  not  to  mention 
internal  doses,  so  that  in  a  short  time  he  had  revived 
sufficiently  to  converse. 

PRISONERS 

The  first  coherent  utterance  that  Revato  made 
was  this:  "Send  for  the  public  boatman,  the  Sudda 
Naditariko  at  the  wharf  by  Gotamo's  Ferry. 

So  the  brethren,  at  Bharadvajo's  request,  fetched 
the  boatman  Naditariko,  and  when  he  had  come 
Revato  paid  him  the  full  value  of  his  lost  boat. 
Then  Naditariko  begged  of  Revato  in  a  whisper  that 
he  might  speak  to  him  in  private,  and  when  the 
monks  reluctantly  had  left  the  room,  the  ferryman 
said: 

"After  you  went  out  in  my  boat,  Sir,  the  YonI 
lady  and  the  other  Yonas  came  and  took  their  large 
boat  away.  The  lady  left  with  me  a  lekha,  a  writing, 
saying  that  if  you  came  back  I  should  give  it  to  you; 
if  not  destroy  it.  Here  it  is." 

The  sealed  packet  contained  two  leaves,  one 
written  in  Magadhese,  the  other  in  Yonaka  charac 
ters.  The  former  ran  as  follows: 


[92] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


"Prote,  to  Revato  the  Layman:  You  remember 
when  last  we  met — no  not  the  last  time  but  the  time 
which  let  us  regard  as  the  last — there  stood  before  us 
a  great  disaster,  a  calamity  to  the  world,  which  we 
strove  to  avert.  That  evil  fortune  has  now  come  to 
pass,  yet  there  is  still  a  possibility  of  defeating  it, 
which  I  cannot  explain  to  you  but  in  which  I  need 
your  aid.  You  must  transmit  the  letter  that  accom 
panies  this  to  certain  persons  in  the  palace,  which 
you  can  do  through  your  friends  the  mendicants 
without  arousing  suspicion.  Let  it  be  delivered  if 
possible  to  the  High  Minister  of  Religion,  per 
sonally;  if  not,  then  to  the  Third'  Municipal  Com 
missioner  of  Alien  Residents,  but  to  no  one  else. 
I  should  say,  hand  it  to  the  King  himself,  but  what 
hope  is  there  that  he  would  heed  it?" 

Thus  abruptly  closed  the  hastily-written  letter. 
Revato  dismissed  the  bearer,  feeing  him  liberally  to 
seal  his  silence,  and  then  considered  his  proper  course 
of  action. 

It  was  not  surprising  that  Prote,  with  her  acquaint 
ance  in  high  circles,  especially  as  one  of  the  Ionian 
race  so  influential  upon  Aryan  affairs,  should  have 
deemed  herself  equipped  for  political  intrigue  and 
should  have  employed  it  in  an  attempt  to  defeat 
the  Dasaratho  conspiracy.  Revato  remembered  her 
familiarity  with  the  Dhamma  Mahamatto  at  their 
meeting  by  the  bridge.  The  counterplot,  however, 
would  doubtless  lead  to  bloodshed,  which  price 
Asoko  had  expressly  refused  to  pay  for  his  throne. 
Would  it  be  right  for  Revato  to  further  such  a  pur 
pose  by  transmission  of  the  message?  He  thought  not. 
In  this  quandary  he  adopted  the  course  of  shift 
ing  responsibility.  He  laid  the  matter  before 
Bharadvajo,  who,  if  anyone,  must  smuggle  Prote's 
document  into  the  palace,  and  left  it  for  him  to  do 
as  he  should  see  fit.  After  listening  to  all  Revato's 
moral  objections  with  his  usual  distaste  for  fine 
drawn  argument  outside  of  the  traditions,  the  old 
man  declared  for  the  letter's  delivery.  To  comply 
with  the  request  was,  he  thought,  the  fulfilment  of  a 
sacred  trust  and,  more  than  that,  an  act  of  kindness 
to  the  sender.  If,  as  Revato  believed,  it  was  in 
tended  to  perpetuate  the  regime  of  the  holy  Dhamma 
what  could  be  a  more  worthy  object?  And  that  evil 
would  have  to  be  done  to  promote  this  good  result, 
was  mere  conjecture.  Besides,  he  was  not  sure  that 
force  in  such  a  case  would  be  unjustified.  On  this 
point  Buddho's  teachings  were  open  to  differences  of 
interpretation. 

Thus  the  man  of  peace,  who  to  save  himself  would 
not  have  harmed  a  single  leg  of  a  centipede,  became 
the  willing  promoter  of  a  bloodthirsty  plot.  By  his 
privileged  and  unsuspicious  access  to  the  palace 
privacy,  he  was  enabled  to  deliver  the  letter  accord 
ing  to  its  intention.  Never,  however,  came  any  news 
of  a  result.  The  incident  was  closed  except  in 
Revato's  conscience. 

There  were  destined  to  be  times  when  would 
flash  upon  Revato  the  enormity  of  his  act,  if  ap 
praised  by  the  consequences  that  might  have 

[93 


followed  it,  and  he  was  conscious  that  the  failure 
of  those  outcomings  affected  his  guilt  not  a  particle. 
Yet  he  felt  that  this  escape  would  color  the  judgment 
of  men  upon  him,  even  of  those  who  sanctioned  no 
violence;  for  no  one  consistently  weighs  intentions 
apart  from  results.  Aware,  then,  that  his  conduct, 
even  if  fully  known  to  everyone,  would  incur  little 
censure,  he  was  unable  adequately  to  rebuke  him 
self.  So  weak  is  the  strongest  human  will  that  the 
most  independent  and  fastidious  moralist  irresistibly 
defers  to  public  estimation. 

The  burning  sala  had  been  watched  all  night  by 
those  among  the  people  of  Pataliputta  who  were  not 
engaged  in  saving  their  own  possessions  from  the 
flood  or  in  seeking  to  appropriate  the  flotsam  of 
others.  Morning  showed  the  sangharama  as  a  heap 
of  ruins  hardly  visible  above  the  water  which  had 
cooperated  with  the  fire  in  its  destruction.  There 
went  up  at  first  a  cry  of  sympathy  for  Diomedes, 
the  architect;  then  of  questioning  why  he  and  his 
fellows  were  not  among  the  crowd  by  the  waterside. 
Soon  it  became  known  that  they  were  nowhere  in 
the  city.  By  the  third  day  word  came  that  their 
large  boat  had  been  found  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  Then  gradually  arrived  from  the  Licchavi 
country  rumors  of  a  Yonaka  caravan  which  had 
passed  northward  along  the  road  leading  through 
Kptigama,  Nadika  and  Vesall,  to  the  foothills  of 
Himavanta  and  thence  to  all  the  countries  of  the 
West. 

Suspicion  had  by  this  time  identified  the  lonians 
with  the  arson  of  the  sala.  It  was  seized  by  the 
enemies  of  the  old  regime,  by  which  the  Yonakas  had 
been  patronized,  to  inflame  the  time-serving  populace 
against  that  race.  The  many  who  long  had  muttered 
against  Asoko  for  giving  them  so  few  festivals  and 
entertainments  now  had  their  public,  if  vicarious, 
revenge.  The  house  of  Diomedes  was  broken  open; 
such  of  his  furniture  and  art  works  as  he  had  left 
behind  were  cast  out  into  the  street.  Personal 
assaults  were  made  upon  certain  of  his  compatriots 
who  remained  in  the  city.  On  the  whole,  however, 
the  habitual  mildness  and  self-restraint  of  the 
Aryan  people  kept  them  from  such  extremities  of 
violence  as  would  have  been  reached  by  a  western 
people  equally  impassioned. 

A  reward  of  a  hundred  gold  suvannas  was  offered 
by  the  regent  Dasaratho,  in  the  name  of  Asoko, 
Piyadassi,  for  apprehension  of  the  incendiary.  Had 
Revato's  adventure  become  noised  abroad  in  detail, 
it  could  not  but  have  placed  him  in  peril.  None  of 
the  monks  at  the  Kukkutarama,  except  Bharadvajo, 
was  aware  of  his  voyage  to  the  island,  though  they 
knew  enough  to  ask  some  embarrassing  questions, 
but  the  ferryman  Nadltariko  had  beheld  his  passage. 
Others,  no  doubt,  had  seen  him  in  the  boat  and  might 
now  recall  the  fact  significantly.  There  was  nothing 
for  him  to  do  but  expect  the  worst  and  hope  for  the 
best. 

Time  passed  by  without  fulfillment  of  his  fears, 
and,  since  each  day  lessened  the  danger,  he  came  to 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


feel  reasonably  safe.  He  was  constantly  harassed, 
however,  with  doubts  whether  he  ought  not  to 
betray  himself  by  correcting  some  deceitfully  evasive 
statements  which  inadvertently  he  had  made  in 
regard  to  his  casting  up  by  the  river.  The  right 
to  profit  by  these  deceptions  he  never  satisfactorily 
settled. 

Revato  dwelt  for  months  at  the  Kukkutarama  in 
care  of  the  brethren,  who  considered  him  unable  as 
yet  to  return  home.  His  rough  voyage  had  left  in 
him  an  effect  not  clearly  to  be  explained,  yet  which 
became  dolorously  manifest  in  his  head  when  he 
attempted  any  exertion.  Word  was  sent  by  a 
caravan  to  his  mother  at  Rajagaha  that  she  might 
look  for  his  arrival  any  day,  and  this  was  followed  by 
others  of  the  same  tenor,  but  without  realization. 
The  Venerable  Bharadvajo  also  remained  at  the 
abbey,  but  the  Venerable  Kondanno  had  crossed  the 
river  as  soon  as  the  flood  sufficiently  subsided  and 
proceeded  on  his  wanderings  northwest.  "I  am 
off  for  a  long  journey  this  winter,"  he  said, 
"to  Savatthi,  to  Hatthinipura — perhaps  farther  yet." 

One  Sabbath  day,  when  all  the  brethren  at  the 
Kukkutarama  were  assembled  for  recitation  of  the 
Patimokkha,  the  great  Confession,  a  servant  of  the 
lower  class  came  from  the  palace  bearing  a  message 
from  the  royal  prisoner. 

"It  was  once  my  great  joy,"  the  message  ran,  "to 
bestow  upon  saints  of  the  sangharama  gifts  worthy  of 
a  universal  monarch.  Of  late  I  have  sought  to  do 
the  same;  I  have  commanded  my  treasurer  to  send 
you  large  sums  of  money.  Did  you  receive  them? 
I  feared  not.  Then  I  sent  you  the  gold  and  silver 
vessels  from  my  table.  Did  they  reach  you?  I 
despatched  after  them  the  earthen  dishes  that  were 
all  I  had  left  wherefrom  to  eat.  Did  they  likewise 
miscarry?  I  asked  my  ministers,  'Who  is  king  of  this 
country?'  They  answered  me,  'Your  Majesty  is 
king.'  Why  did  they  say  from  their  kindness  that 
which  is  untrue?  I  am  fallen  from  my  high  estate. 
There  is  nothing  left  whereof  I  may  dispose  as 
sovereign  save  this  amalaka  fruit.  I  send  it,  there 
fore,  Brethren,  to  you.  Behold,  it  is  my  last  gift; 
to  this  have  come  the  riches  of  the  Emperor  of 
Jambudipa.  My  royalty  and  my  power  have  de 
parted;  deprived  of  health,  of  physic  and  of  physi 
cians,  no  comfort  is  left  me  save  from  the  Assembly  of 
the  Saints.  Eat  this  fruit  which  is  offered  with  the 
intent  tkat  the  whole  Sangha  may  partake  of  it, 
my  last  gift." 

The  servant,  one  at  least  faithful  to  his  abased 
master,  delivered  the  amalaka  fruit  to  the  monks. 
In  reverent  compliance  with  the  request  of  its  giver, 
they  divided  it  in  portions  minute  enough  for  dis 
tribution  among  the  whole  great  assembly.  The 
ritual  service  in  which  they  had  been  engaged  was 
suspended  in  order  to  partake  of  this  pinda,  truly 
sacramental  in  its  character  and  intent,  with  a 
solemnity  which  perhaps  no  company  of  holy  men 


had  felt  since  those  on  whom  fell  the  words  of  the 
dying  Buddho. 

To  Revato,  a  mere  auditor  of  the  Chapter's 
devotions,  intrusive  as  he  felt  himself,  was  vouch 
safed  a  share  in  this  feast. 

THE    CALL    OF    YONALOKA 

In  the  late  summer  time,  when  the  rains  were 
soon  to  commence,  the  Venerable  Kondanno,  after 
his  eight  months  of  wandering,  returned  to  the  Cock 
Garden  abbey.  He  had  travelled  farther  than  ever 
before,  to  the  head  waters  of  the  great  rivers  among 
the  northwestern  mountains,  even  as  far  as  the 
subject  province  of  Gandhara.  Those  regions 
swarmed  with  Yonas  inhabiting  towns,  such  as 
Sagala  and  the  great  Takkasila,  which  was  said  to  be 
laid  out  like  their  own  cities  in  the  original  Yonaloka. 
He  had  much  to  relate  of  the  wonderful  vanities  there 
looked  upon  and  of  the  progress  that  the  Dhamma 
was  making  among  the  unsaved.  He  had  himself 
entered  unbidden  and  preached  in  the  Yonas'  Temple 
of  the  Sun  at  Takkasila  and  had  made  a  few  con 
verts  before  being  chased  and  stoned  by  the  mob. 
Outside  of  the  city  was  a  still  larger  idol  house  built 
of  beautiful  porphyry  and  surrounded  with  columns. 
It  had  in  the  center  a  pool  kept  full  by  streams;  and 
inside,  around  the  shrine,  were  wonderful  pictures 
representing  the  battles  of  Alasando  and  the  Porava 
king.  In  this  temple  a  Yona  had  accosted  him  by 
his  name  saying,  "Bho  Kondanno,"  but  because 
addressed  in  such  familiar  Bhovddi  terms,  without  the 
reverence  due  him,  Kondanno  had  vouchsafed  no 
reply. 

At  Sagala  he  had  received  an  alms  of  a  Yonaki 
whose  excremental  carcass  was  glossed  over  with  a 
transitory  show  of  beauty  seductive  to  behold.  She 
had  asked  him  whence  he  came.  "Nassa  vasall, 
Perish,  vile  woman!"  he  had  first  answered;  but 
after  importunity  had  condescended  to  give  her  the 
desired  information.  She  had  then  enquired  whether 
he  knew  anything  about  Revato,  called  Yuvano, 
and  upon  learning  of  that  layman's  rescue  after  his 
adventure,  as  Kondanno  understood  it,  she  had 
seemed  disburdened.  Her  father  was  tarrying  at 
Sagala  to  finish  a  shrine  of  some  ephemeral  heavenly 
devata  with  whose  name  Kondanno  had  not  troubled 
to  charge  his  memory.  After  that,  she  hoped,  they 
would  return  to  her  own  Yonaloka.  She  had  com 
missioned  Kondanno  thus:  "Say  to  the  Layman 
Revato:  'The  Yonaki  Prote  greets  you  by  me,'  and 
tell  him  that  there  is  this  side  of  Transmigration  a 
sukha-sukka  land,  a  country  where  both  happiness 
and  purity  together  dwell." 

More  than  this,  perhaps,  Kondanno  could  have 
told  him  about  Prote,  but  Revato  forbore  to  enquire. 
It  was  hardest  for  him  to  withold  the  vital  question, 
how  long  must  she  remain  in  Sagala  before  Diomedes' 
work  would  be  accomplished  and  she  pass  forth  to  be 
lost  forever  in  that  distant  western  land  obliterative 
to  him  of  identity,  like  the  Arupaloka,  the  Formless 
World? 


[94] 


THE          LAYMAN          R     E    V    A    T    O 


As  Kondafmo  left  him,  he  was  lying  in  a  little 
black-washed  parivena,  cell,  upon  a  low  bed  resting 
on  cords  passed  through  holes  in  the  side  frames,  a 
small  wool-stuffed  pillow  supporting  his  head.  The 
latticed  window  had  been  furnished  with  mosquito 
curtains  to  add  to  his  comfort.  He  strove  to  bring 
himself  face  to  face  with  his  thoughts.  He  had 
staked  his  destiny  upon  the  expansive  life,  hoping 
against  reason  that  it  would  reward  him  with  light 
and  freedom,  and  now  it  had  abandoned  him  to  his 
fate  in  the  old  contractive  life  to  which  he  had 
proved  recreant — No, rather,  the  new  life  had  not  so 
much  abandoned  him  as  left  him  in  a  position  where 
he  should  voluntarily  renounce  it  forever.  This 
was  what  made  him  dizzy  and  faint — not  Prote's 
flight,  but  her  tarrying. 

Through  the  sultry  afternoon  he  lay  in  the  little 
vihara  while  his  mind  split  into  separate  streams  like 
Ganga  nadi  at  its  mouth.  The  strongest  of  these 
thought  currents  diverged  from  him  as  Ganga 
sometimes  leaves  its  channel.  His  own  self  became 
his  spectator  and  criticized  his  emotional  experiences. 
Again,  it  centred  its  attention  upon  a  speck  of  dust, 
which  swung  from  a  bambu  clothes  pole  above  him 
by  a  filament  of  cobweb,  until  this  became  to  him 
the  most  absorbing  object  in  the  world. 

Toward  evening,  when  the  air  grew  cooler,  some 
one  brought  Revato  a  bowl  of  rice  milk  and  this 
slight  diversion  was  the  signal  for  a  reaction  of 


feeling  and  purpose,  as  had  been  a  similar  ministry 
by  Sujata,  the  herdsman's  daughter,  to  the  fainting 
Bodhisatto  beside  the  river  Neranjara.  "I  will 
cast  in  my  all  with  the  great  venture!"  exclaimed 
Revato  inwardly;  "I  am  gaining  strength  and  can 
travel.  I  will  hasten  to  Yonaloka  and  will  discover 
the  saving  Truth." 

This  frame  of  mind  was,  however,  of  short  dura 
tion.  Objections,  one  by  one,  presented  themselves 
and  he  despaired  of  fulfilling  the  plan.  Its  restless 
ness  remained  in  him  and  he  felt  a  compelling  stress 
to  be  up  and  moving,  if  not  to  Sagala  then  some 
where  else.  Longer  passivity  would  throw  him  into 
convulsions. 

"When,  bhante,  will  you  return  to  Rajagaha?" 
he  asked  of  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo  that  evening. 

"Not  until  you  are  strong  enough  to  go  with  me, 
my  son,"  was  the  response. 

"I  shall  be  able  and  ready  to  start  to-morrow 
morning,"  was  Revato's  firm  declaration. 

So  the  next  day,  after  procuring  a  cart  in  which  to 
convey  Revato,  the  Venerable  Bharadvajo  and  the 
Venerable  Kondanno  set  out  with  him  and  returned 
to  Rajagaha.  They  took  him  to  his  home  and  left 
him  with  his  mother,  the  lady  Sundari,  who  her 
self  was  in  failing  health.  His  house  was  not  far 
from  the  sangharama  in  Jivako's  Mango  Grove, 
where  there  was  a  monk  celebrated  for  medical 
skill. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  ESTUARY 


The  cloister  in  the  Jivakambavana  had  always 
worn  for  Revato  an  air  of  homely  familiarity,  next  to 
his  own  house.  Traditions  of  the  donor  of  the 
grove,  that  zealous  young  lay  disciple,  the  physician 
Jivako  Komarabhacco — his  very  name  Jivako  sug 
gestive  of  the  life  which  he  sustained — had  imbued 
this  umbrageous  precinct  with  suggestions  of  the 
healing  craft.  It  had  never  formally  become  a 
sotthisala,  hospital,  such  as  Piyadassi  and  as  the 
heads  of  wealthy  burgher  families  established  here 
and  there  in  order  that  the  diseased,  maimed  and 
crippled,  orphans  and  destitute  might  get  the  medi 
cines  and  food  which  they  needed  and  might  remain 
till  they  became  better.  Forms  of  external  benevo 
lence  such  as  this  were  a  way  in  which  the  devotion 
of  the  laity  expressed  itself  under  guidance  of  the 
monks  rather  than  a  function  of  the  Order  itself. 

At  this  time,  however,  there  happened  to  be 
resident  at  Jivako  vihara  a  brother  who  before  his 
ordination  had  been  distinguished  as  a  physician, 
and  when  afflicted  mortals  came  to  the  convent, 
drawn  both  by  his  reputation  and  by  Jivako's 
historic  name,  they  were  not  turned  away,  but  the 
place  became  quite  a  centre  of  curative  charity. 


During  the  long,  slowly  moving  epoch  of  his  life 
that  he  now  entered,  Revato  was  destined  to 
become  like  a  habitual  inmate  of  the  Mango  Grove. 
While  he  continued  to  reside  at  home,  it  became  the 
goal  of  almost  daily  pilgrimages,  for  its  distance  just 
limited  the  amplitude  of  his  unaided  locomotion  and 
furnished  the  one  diversion  in  an  otherwise  monoto 
nous  existence.  During  long  periods,  increasingly 
frequent,  the  monks  kept  him  at  the  sangharama 
under  their  constant  care. 

The  monastery  was  a  busy  clearing  house  of  news, 
and  Revato,  little  as  now  as  he  was  himself  con 
cerned,  overheard  reports  of  the  great  public  affairs 
throughout  Jambudipa.  The  regent  Dasaratho  had 
made  no  sharp  changes  in  its  government.  At  the 
outset  he  disappointed  the  Niganthas  who  got  only 
the  ruins  of  the  Parayana  sangharama,  destroyed  by 
flood  and  fire.  Diplomatically,  he  continued  to 
patronize  the  other  sects,  such  as  the  Brahminists, 
the  Ajivakas  and  the  Buddhists  also,  to  whom,  in 
compensation  for  the  Parayana,  he  dedicated  certain 
costly  hewn  caverns,  to  hold  as  long  as  sun  and  moon 
should  endure.  Certain  much-heralded  reductions 
were  made  in  taxation,  such  as  an  abolition  of  the 


[95] 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


custom  house  at  Rajagaha,  which  was  obsolescent 
and  a  bugbear  only  to  a  few  rich  traders,  but  in  other 
ways  the  burdens  on  the  common  people  became 
greater  than  before.  Murmurs,  however,  were 
drowned  in  cheers,  since  Dasaratho  restored  the  old 
festivals  and  amusements,  discouragement  of  which 
had  been  the  greatest  grievance  against  Asoko. 

There  was  perceptible  generally  a  retraction  from 
former  ideals,  a  tendency  downward  toward  the  level 
of  oppression  and  cruelty  on  which  kings  find  a 
common  footing.  Kalinga,  together  with  Andha, 
revolted,  rebuilt  its  independent  throne  of  tyranny 
and  threatened  an  invasion  of  Magadha.  This  early 
loss  of  the  province  subjugated  by  Asoko  in  the  one 
bloody  act  of  his  reign  could  not  fail  of  moral 
suggestiveness,  even  while  one  must  remember  that 
the  greatest  consequences  in  morals  are  neither 
spectacular  nor  obvious. 

The  humiliation  of  this  successful  Kalingan 
rebellion  in  the  South  was  effectively  charged  by 
courtiers  and  Brahmins  upon  the  unmilitary  policy 
of  the  past.  Already,  moreover,  rumors  began  to 
come  in  from  northern  countries  beyond  Himavanta, 
of  barbarous  tribes,  numerous  as  the  sands  of 
intervening  deserts,  whose  restlessness  was  alarming 
the  nearby  Yonaka  nations,  and  who,  if  their  huge 
mass  should  get  in  motion,  might  be  carried  by  its 
momentum  down  the  rivers  of  Ariya  Land.  These 
arguments,  employed  upon  the  populace,  were  more 
real  in  the  logic  of  nations  than  those  which  generally 
are  available  to  work  up  a  war  spirit:  though,  for 
that  matter,  any  argument,  or  none  at  all,  answers 
the  purpose  equally  well. 

Such  obsolescence  of  social  goodness,  such  rapid 
decadence  of  an  epoch  the  most  nearly  perfect  that 
the  country  had  ever  known,  could  not  but  breed  in 
Revato  a  despondency,  a  disinterest  in  reform  which, 
had  he  still  been  active  in  affairs,  must  have  damp 
ened  his  endeavors,  but  which,  in  his  present  passive 
state,  was  outwardly  inconsequential.  This  dis 
couragement  prevailed  in  him  despite  his  faith  that 
good  kamma  can  never  be  blighted  but  will  come  to 
fruition  in  one  way  if  not  in  another. 

During  his  long  frequency  at  the  Mango  Grove, 
Revato  was  often  reminded  how  Buddho  had  defined 
the  qualities  of  a  sick  person  difficult  to  wait  upon, 
and  their  contrary  virtues,  to  wit:  that  the  patient 
should  do  what  was  good  for  him,  know  how  much 
to  eat,  take  his  medicine,  acquaint  his  nurse  with  his 
condition  and  endure  pain  with  fortitude.  Likewise 
the  Teacher  had  explained  the  essentials  of  a  good 
nurse:  knowledge  to  prescribe  for  and  treat  the 
patient,  courage  for  the  various  unpleasant  tasks  of 
the  sick  chamber,  also  wisdom  to  instruct,  arouse 
and  gladden  the  invalid  with  comfortable  words  of 
religion.  This  last  duty  the  young  deacon  who 
waited  upon  Revato,  when  some  ill-turn  brought 
him  low  enough  to  require  actual  attendance,  took 
to  heart,  exhorting  him  earnestly,  not  without  dif 
fidence,  yet  from  the  vantage  ground  which  even 
the  lowest  in  holy  orders  should  occupy  toward 


1 


the  wisest  layman.  Revato  heard  the  boy's  prattle 
good-naturedly,  nor  betrayed  how  his  spiritual 
loneliness  was  enhanced  by  listening  across  the  gulf 
between  them. 

With  eyes  attentive  to  sights  ignored  when 
interests  had  been  many,  Revato  would  now  watch 
the  miserable  creatures  who  came  to  the  monastery 
for  relief  and  departed  with  a  degree  of  comfort 
at  which  he  marveled.  It  was  no  vanity,  no  illusion, 
that  had  taught  men  the  use  of  a  hundred  and  more 
clever  forms  of  surgical  instruments,  each  with  its 
peculiar  adaptation  to  some  exigency  of  the  mortal 
frame,  even  to  the  dark  recesses  of  bowels  and 
brain.  Nor  was  there  less  of  wonder  in  the  tender 
ness  which  supplemented  knife  and  nostrum, 
allaying  even  the  apprehended  pain  of  the  incision. 
At  the  convent  were  brethren  whom  of  old  he  had 
despised  for  their  bigotry  and  shallowness,  yet 
whom  now  he  found  cause  self-reproachfully  to 
admire  for  their  skill  and  gentleness,  their  patience 
and  their  heroism  in  the  most  disagreeable  offices. 

To  look  upon  these  sights  made  him  realize,  what 
he  had  before  admitted  theoretically,  the  true  and 
transcendent  worth  of  alleviating  human  suffering. 
He  realized,  too,  more  than  ever,  the  value  of  all 
effort,  whether  by  research  or  humble  practice, 
which  conduces  to  this  ministry.  Such  personal 
devotion  alone  kept  the  world  from  becoming  an 
utter  hell. 

In  his  undisturbed  musings  the  Layman  re- 
examined  his  old  views  of  right  and  wrong.  That 
element  in  his  earlier  philosophy  which  now  most 
unhesitatingly  he  confirmed  was  its  repugnance 
toward  cruelty,  its  insistence  upon  kindness  as  the 
foundation  of  all  good.  Saintly  raptures  he  coveted 
less  than  ever.  "The  world  is  full  of  futile  mysti 
cism,"  he  told  himself,  "but  who  can  show  a  case 
of  futile  goodness;  that  is  to  say,  kindness."  All 
virtues,  he  now  felt,  draw  their  force  from  their 
kindliness,  their  joy-giving  tendencies.  If  we  must 
often  follow  them  blindly,  it  is  because  we  accept 
them  as  beneficent  in  the  main  and  admit  that  we 
are  humanly  too  ignorant  to  depend  solely  on  our  own 
conjectures  of  what  is,  or  is  not,  kind.  Even  truthful 
ness  and  honesty  now  Revato  acknowledged  to 
exist  through  some  obscure  relation  to  kindness. 
Their  solemnity,  however,  remained  to  him.  In 
theory  he  might  fancy  a  way  out  of  his  old  problems 
by  letting  down  the  bars  of  absolute  rectitude,  he 
might  have  allowed  it  to  another,  but  he  could  not 
confidently  have  done  it  for  himself. 

Again,  he  told  himself  that  his  fault  had  been 
selfishness,  and  that,  could  he  have  thrown  himself 
into  disinterested  service  of  others,  his  sky  would 
have  been  cleared.  This  was  noble  common  sense 
indeed,  yet  he  doubted  if  it  sufficiently  considered 
the  pathological  nature  of  his  peculiar  clouds.  Such 
a  disinterestedness  might  have  succeeded  so  far  as 
it  diverted  him,  extinguishing  his  self-centered 
cravings,  but  would  not  the  altruistic  concerns  have 
formed  new  desires  and  led  to  even  greater  worri- 


[96] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


ments,  to  compulsions  toward  sacrificing  others — 
far  harder  than  sacrificing  himself? 

When  his  mind  became  too  tired  to  follow  these 
abstruse  conjectures  he  fell  back  to  a  simple  con 
templation  of  the  bedrock,  kindness.  From  the  old 
Aryan  root  mitra,  a  friend,  had  come  the  enriched, 
softened  Pali  word  mettd,  a  clear,  all-compassing 
friendliness  of  heart.  It  was  to  be  the  distinctive 
characteristic  of  that  next  Buddha — Metteyyo — who 
should  come  to  restore  the  world  after  the  culmina 
tion  of  the  present  degenerating  age.  Revato  re 
membered  the  enumeration  of  merits  which  entitled 
men  to  behold  him.  Among  such  favored  ones  were 
they  who  in  their  longing  should  make  gift  of  only  a 
handful  of  flowers,  a  mouthful  of  food;  those  also  to 
whom  well  doing  was  a  delight.  Could,  by  any 
means,  he,  Revato,  be  accounted  worthy,  in  some 
future  birth,  to  greet  this  Messiah? 

Among  the  monks  and  their  adherents  Revato's 
sober  manners  earned  him  no  mean  reputation  for 
sanctity.  He  conformed  punctiliously  to  the  formal 
rules  for  householders,  even  taking  upon  himself 
many  of  those  intended  for  novices  and  members  of 
the  Order.  They  generously  admitted  him  to  pecul 
iar  privileges  of  fellowship,  notwithstanding  he  had 
no  formal  status  among  them. 

But  in  his  heart  he  felt  few  corresponding  conso 
lations.  He  was  conscious  of  an  apathy,  a  critical 
spectatorship,  toward  all  that  was  sacred.  Whereas 
his  earlier  struggles  with  religion  had  been  deficient 
in  some  elements  of  sincerity,  they  had  nevertheless 
been  characterized  by  a  certain  earnestness  very 
intense  in  its  way  and  actuated  by  a  persistent 
vitality  of  effort.  Now,  however,  he  seemed  to  be 
spiritually  dead.  It  was  a  natural  result,  he  told 
himself,  with  more  or  less  truth,  of  his  dalliance 
with  desire,  his  headstrong  pursuit  of  folly.  He 
knew  that  it  had  been  contributed  to  also  by  his 
perennial  lack  of  intellectual  humility,  by  his  con 
tempt  for  old  beliefs,  his  rashness  in  speculations. 

In  a  belated  ghastly  attempt  to  atone  for  the 
past,  he  now  strove  to  thrust  his  mind  beneath  the 
yoke  of  accredited  doctrines;  he  tried  to  apply 
for  himself  those  definite  methods  prescribed  for 
salvation  by  discipline — persistence  in  the  eight 
fold  path,  rupture  of  the  ten  fetters.  But  he  was 
aware  through  it  all  of  a  dilettantism,  a  mock- 
heroism  in  the  part  that  was  played  by  his  would-be 
self,  and  observed  by  his  natural,  contemplative  self. 

There  are  many  who  will  say  that  Revato's 
gathering  darkness  might  have  been  illumined  if 
only  he  could  have  felt  the  effect  of  certain  spiritual 
lights  needful  to  ordinary  men — a  definite  God,  a 
clear  outlook  beyond  the  grave,  active  work  for 
humanity.  But  the  existence  of  mental  clouds  which 
are  opaque  to  these  illuminants  is  well  recognized 
when  seen  in  obvious  lunacy,  and  no  man  can 
surely  judge  what  condition  of  mind  is,  or  is  not, 
spiritually  translucent. 

Yet  in  his  dejection,  his  disillusionment,  detach 
ment,  there  was  a  victory  of  self-mastery  which  under 


other  conditions  might  have  become  a  power  for 
good.  Could  he  have  mixed  once  more  with  the 
world,  well  and  strong,  his  life  might  have  become 
one  of  exquisite  tenderness,  a  ministry  of  pity  if 
not  of  hope,  and  the  more  vital  if,  instead  of  jocu 
larity,  which  is  common  enough,  his  mood  had  been 
an  unutterable  compassion.  But  such  a  possibility 
was  now  gone  to  waste  and  lay  in  the  mountainous 
dust  heap  of  the  what-might-have-been. 

Among  the  host  of  his  ancient  doubts  and  ap 
prehensions,  not  dead  but  sleeping,  often  one  or 
another  would  awake;  forgotten  wounds  would  re 
open. 

On  a  certain  Uposatha  day,  the  fourteenth  of  the 
half  month,  the  chapter  resident  at  the  Mango 
Grove  had  met  in  their  assembly  hall  to  unite  in  the 
general  confession  of  innocency.  Revato  was  seated 
propped  against  a  pillar,  behind  the  samaneras, 
novices,  maintaining  the  distance  of  two  and  one- 
half  cubits  required  of  a  layman,  according  to  the 
rule  of  exclusion  as  tolerantly  construed.  A  thin- 
faced  Elder  repeated  the  warning  charge:  "He  who 
has  committed  an  offence  may  confess  it;  if  there 
be  no  offence,  you  shall  remain  silent;  from  your 
being  silent  I  shall  understand  that  the  reverend 
brethren  are  free  from  offences." 

Then  began  the  recitation  of  the  Patimokkha, 
commencing  with  the  four  Parajikas,  or  mortal  sins, 
the  second  of  which  is  any  "taking  of  an  ungiven 
thing,"  which  were  followed  by  the  three-fold  adjura 
tion  to  reveal  guilt.  The  leader  made  the  usual 
pause,  expecting  only  the  silence  in  which  the 
enumeration  of  each  degree  of  wrong  was  commonly 
received,  since  the  monks  were  supposed  already 
to  be  clear  by  private  confession.  But  the  congrega 
tion  was  startled  by  a  nervous,  hoarse  voice  from  the 
back  of  the  room: 

"Apatti  'hang — Guilty,  I." 

The  Brethren  understood  Revato  well  enough  to 
overlook  this  interruption  of  their  solemn  service. 
Few  placed  any  credence  in  the  self-accusation. 
Though  they  did  not  understand  its  occasion,  they 
assumed  that  it  was  some  self-tormenting  vagary  on 
his  part. 

Revato  was  actually  in  the  throes  of  a  sharp 
return  of  his  old  difficulty  relating  to  the  custom 
house.  It  was  a  matter  of  many  months  since  he  had 
dropped  out  of  his  office,  and  the  unsettled  moral 
obligations  only  once  in  a  while  arose  from  the  buried 
past  to  confront  him.  When,  by  pondering,  he  re 
stored  their  distinctness,  their  perplexities  remained 
as  insoluble  as  ever.  To  be  sure,  he  had  little  of  life 
now  at  stake,  whatever  might  have  been  the  outcome. 
But  he  could  not  take  advantage  of  this  fact  to 
shirk  the  humiliations  which  he  had  foreseen  as 
incident  to  his  attempts  at  restitution.  Moreover, 
his  dependent  ease  and  indolence  seemed  a  sin.  He 
had  no  claim  to  be  supported  in  luxury  by  the  world, 
but  rather  owed  a  duty  to  all  mankind  of  sacrificing 
his  pleasure,  his  comfort,  to  lighten  their  burdens. 
This  had  never  before  been  so  clear  to  him  as  now 


[97] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


when  weakness  compelled  him  to  be  a  recipient  of 
services,  rather  than  a  bestower. 

When,  formerly,  Revato  had  in  imagination 
followed  to  a  logical  conclusion  the  surrender  of  his 
livelihood,  he  had  felt  himself  bearing  through  the 
streets  which  knew  him  the  bhikkhu's  bowl  without 
the  bhikkhu's  honor.  Now,  in  an  unlucky  moment, 
this  baneful  picture  rearose.  His  mood  of  conscience 
suggested  that,  although  his  lack  of  assurance 
deterred  him  from  yet  attempting  the  pecuniary 
renunciation,  he  should  not  thus  evade  its  shameful 
consequences  to  himself. 

For  a  time  he  could  summon  neither  physical  nor 
moral  strength  to  act  upon  his  impulse,  but  as  each 
morning  he  watched  the  monks  start  forth  with  their 
bowls  slung  in  net  purses  and  saw  them  return  with 
provisions  for  the  bhatta,  he  was  sharply  reminded 
of  his  unfulfilled  duty  and  was  thus  allowed  no 
opportunity  to  forget  it.  Finally,  with  an  energy  of 
nervous  excitement,  he  arose  one  morning  from  a 
sleepless  bed,  borrowed  from  a  monk  a  cracked  bowl, 
presuming  not  however  to  put  on  the  yellow  robe 
which  was  its  mate,  and  stole  forth  from  the  vihara 
unobserved.  He  was  next  heard  of  in  the  thick  of 
the  old  city,  tottering  from  house  to  house  to  suppli 
cate  mutely  the  dole  of  life.  At  his  heels  was  his 
three-legged  dog.  The  people  that  knew  him  by  sight 
thought  him  mad,  while  others,  compassionate  of 
his  ematiation,  heaped  his  bowl  with  pindas.  In 
this  condition  he  was  found  by  the  Reverend 
Bharadvajo,  who  led  him  back  to  the  convent. 

Incidents  such  as  this  marked  only  rare  victories 
of  his  accusing  conscience.  For  the  most  part,  he 
drifted  from  day  to  day  taking  no  measures  toward 
making  those  vast  restitutions  which  he  still  assumed 
to  be  the  goal  of  his  life.  One  reason  was  the  languor 
of  his  physical  and  mental  disease  into  which  the 
temperamental  inertia  of  his  more  healthy  years  had 
merged.  On  the  whole,  he  now  suffered  less  con 
stantly  from  these  old  wounds  than  from  his  dis 
ability  of  heart  to  engage  in  sincere  devout  medita 
tion — although  the  latter,  he  feared,  was  bound  up 
in  the  former. 

He  could  not,  or  would  not  bend  to  that  complete 
resignation  of  mind  in  which  the  fond  past  might  be 
remembered  with  no  shadow  of  expectancy. 
Throughout  the  first  three  months  after  his  return 
to  Giribbaja,  while  rain-clouds  constantly  pastured 
upon  the  country,  he  was  ever  mindful  of  the  season 
when  winds  of  Himavanta  would  huddle  them  in  a 
flock  upon  the  fold  of  ocean.  By  that  time  he  might 
be  strong  to  travel — and  the  road  to  Sagala  was  well- 
marked.  The  self-struggle  that  this  must  involve, 
he  postponed  toward  the  vague  day  of  departure. 
When  the  moon  entered  the  mansion  where  that 
day  might  have  awaited,  Revato's  bodily  in 
ability  was  kind  to  him  by  settling  the  question  for 
him. 

The  journeying  of  time  thereafter  was  so  quiet 
that,  before  he  realized  it,  the  dreaded  endless 
period  had  come  when  Sagala  was  no  longer  a  goal 


and  when  all  that  had  made  it  a  goal  must  be  lost 
in  the  farther  West — whether 

"Cyprus  holds  thee,  Panormos  yet,  or  Paphos." 

But  so  dreamy  had  his  moods  by  this  time  become 
that  they  harbored  fancies  of  still  more  adventurous 
pilgrimages  of  discovery  and  reunion.  The  personal 
cravings  were  melting  away,  were  fusing  into  yearn 
ings  for  the  ideal.  There  arose  before  him  those 
islands,  washed  by  hoary  waves,  on  whose  green 
banks  goodness  and  beauty,  pity  and  joy,  justice 
and  success  dwelt  in  harmony. 

Once  and  again,  while  he  grew  more  feeble,  he 
would  leap  from  his  couch  in  the  exhilaration  of 
some  uplifting  emotion  and  exclaim:  "It  is  time  to 
start."  Then  gradually,  as  he  realized  the  futility, 
he  would  sink  back  with  fancy  crushed  but  still 
germinal.  From  his  invalid's  mat  he  would  strain 
his  eyes  toward  unbeheld  Mandara,  that  western 
mountain  which  is  the  home  of  the  setting  sun. 

The  news  of  Asoko's  deposition  and  decline  had 
crept  to  the  shores  of  the  eastern  sea  and  across  the 
expanse  to  Tambapannidipa  where  the  Thera 
Mahindo  was  perfecting  his  work  of  conversion. 
Here  also  the  Then  Sanghamitta  had  come,  not  like 
Sita  of  old  into  amorous  captivity,  but  gladly  bring 
ing  a  slip  from  the  Mahabodhi  tree  of  Uruvela  to  be 
planted  and  to  stand  forever  in  the  Mahamega 
garden  at  Anuradhapura.  She  was  dwelling  there 
still  as  abbess  of  the  Hatthalaka  vihara. 

Now,  by  precept  and  example  of  Buddho,  attend 
ance  on  a  sick  parent  may  override  the  duties  of  the 
religious  life.  So  the  Then  said,  "I  return  to 
Pataliputta."  Followed  to  the  shore  by  the  monarch 
of  Lanka  and  his  people,  who  permitted  her  to  go 
only  upon  promises  of  return,  she  took  ship  for  the 
coasts  of  Jambudipa.  After  long  perils  she  landed 
at  the  port  of  Tamalipi.  Thence  the  Then"  made 
her  way  to  the  Capital  in  time  to  console  her  father's 
last  hours  and  to  stand  beside  the  funeral  pyre. 
She  then  decided  not  to  return  at  once  to  the  island 
but  to  pass  a  season  in  retreat  at  Giribbaja,  where 
she  took  up  her  residence  at  a  convent  of  the  bhik- 
khunlsangha  in  the  Veluvana. 

Revato  saw  her  as  she  came  with  a  party  of  sisters 
escorted  by  old  Bharadvajo  on  a  visit  to  the  Mango 
Grove,  there  to  derive  stimulus  from  its  hallowed 
memories  and  especially  to  study  the  skilful  methods 
of  treating  afflicted  patients.  Bharadvajo  pointed 
out  to  her  Revato,  as  he  lay  on  his  mat  under  his 
customary  tree.  She  stopped  and  spoke  to  him  in 
a  manner  which  evidenced  previous  information  and 
interest  concerning  him.  That  was  the  beginning 
of  an  acquaintance  which  lasted  throughout  her 
residence  at  the  nunnery  in  the  Veluvana,  whence 
she  often  came  to  the  JIvakambavana,  sometimes 
lingering  there  in  earnest  conversation  with  Revato. 

The  lady  Sanghamitta — Friend  of  the  Society — 
a  name  not  hers  from  infancy  but  acquired  with  her 
blessed  office — appeared  to  Revato  in  beautiful  dis 
similarity  from  all  other  women  he  had  known. 


[98] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


Those  wise  rules  laid  down  by  the  Blessed  One  to 
guard  the  modest  reserve  and  feminine  dependence 
of  the  Sisterhood  seemed  in  her  case  almost  an  im 
pertinence.  Her  beneficent  experience,  taken  with 
her  native  purity,  was  all  the  law  she  needed,  con 
trolled  by  which  she  could  live  in  the  open  and  make 
her  sweet  influence  pervasive.  In  her  presence  the 
discipline  became  irrelevant,  obsolete.  She  did  not 
in  fact  violate  any  formal  rule  of  conduct — her 
reverence  for  the  Dhamma  and  its  lord  was  too 
humble  for  that — but  had  she  done  so  no  one  would 
have  thought  it  evil  and  nothing  that  she  could  have 
done  would  have  been  evil. 

Thus  came  into  Revato's  experience  a  new,  though 
belated,  friendship  which,  more  than  anything  else 
in  the  world,  soothed  and  ennobled  it.  In  her  aloof, 
but  tender  companionship,  her  deep,  clear  insight, 
penetrating  further  than  anyone  else  had  ever  done 
into  the  caverns  of  his  soul,  he  realized  how  rich  may 
be  the  compensations  which  the  impoverishing  Law 
of  Righteousness  has  to  offer.  While  of  old  he  had 
been  able  somewhat  to  calm  his  tempestuous  heart 
in  a  negative  way  by  thinking  of  his  self-denying 
Master,  here  now  was  a  positive  appeasement  of  his 
restlessness  in  a  guise  more  concessive  to  his  human 
ity.  A  pang  might  find  him  when  he  compared  this 
sober  benediction  of  the  chastened  present  with  a 
certain  shining  vision  of  the  sometime  past,  but  for 
the  most  part,  he  was  willing  to  be  content  with 
this  new  apparition  while  it  remained,  aware  that  it 
also  must  vanish.  At  the  end  of  Lent  the  royal  nun 
made  her  last  greetings  and  returned  forever  to 
Tambapannidipa.  In  that  progressive  emptying 
which  is  the  nature  of  human  life,  she  passed  forth 
as  another  had  gone  before,  leaving  a  new  void  to  be 
filled  by  the  rising  tide  of  an  existence  which  was 
pure  memory  and  meditation. 

All  this  time  Dukkho,  the  lame  dog,  had  remained 
with  Revato.  The  creature  was  showing  more  signs 
of  age — he  had  always  been  old,  it  appeared — and 
spent  most  of  his  time  in  sleeping.  He  no  longer 
followed  his  master's  step  but  sought  quiet  corners 
where  he  dozed  for  days  at  a  time.  His  unaccount 
able  fits  of  whining  were  now  infrequent.  There 
seemed  to  be  even  an  indifference  to  his  benefactor, 
an  indifference  of  decay,  when  the  enfeebled  body 
becomes  selfish  for  its  own  sustenance,  and  the 
noblest  of  emotions  fail  in  the  sluggish  mind. 

As  months  and  years  went  by  Revato  himself 
grew  physically  weaker,  yet  without  pain  or  percept 
ible  organic  disease,  his  case  baffling  the  best  medical 
skill  at  Rajagaha.  Perhaps  his  malady  was  nothing 
less  than  an  appropriate  success  of  his  long  struggle 
for  extirpation  of  desire,  of  clinging,  of  ambition, 
which  emotions,  whether  appraised  by  the  Ariyan  or 
Ionian  estimate,  are  admitted  to  be  the  springs  of 
life. 

The  submission,  such  as  it  was,  became  more 
possible  from  Revato's  final  conviction  that  the  out 
come  of  his  career  could  by  no  means  have  been 
materially  changed.  His  efforts  to  support  his 


aspirations  upon  his  old  preoccupations  had  been 
like  trying  to  make  a  mustard  seed  stand  on  the 
point  of  an  awl.  His  relations  to  the  world  had  been 
affected  by  traits  of  mind  which,  whether  right  or 
wrong,  were  as  fixed  as  those  of  the  incurably  insane. 
The  problems  he  had  sought  to  solve,  whether  or  not 
in  their  nature  capable  of  elucidation  for  others, 
had  been  necessarily  opaque  to  him.  This  he 
should  not  have  admitted  from  the  beginning. — 
Man  must  never  accept  defeat  until  the  end,  or  if  it 
is  so  plainly  written  in  him  that  he  cannot  ignore  it, 
then  his  endeavor  must  be  to  wear  that  defeat  with 
all  possible  compensations  and  sweetness. — But 
looking  back  impartially  from  the  close,  as  Revato 
was  entitled  to  do,  he  perceived  how  inevitable  had 
been  the  failure  of  his  adjustment  to  earth.  As  this 
conclusion  allayed  the  irritation  of  regret  for  mis 
takes  and  wasted  opportunities,  it  permitted  some 
degree  of  resignation  and  even  tranquility. 

Already  his  soul  seemed  to  itself  a  peta,  a  ghost  of 
the  dead,  lingering  among  scenes  of  his  life  and 
dwelling  in  his  body  as  petas  sometimes  lodge  in 
corpses,  an  independent  haunting  visitant.  His 
earliest  learning  had  been  from  the  old  collection  of 
ghost  stories,  fascinatingly  awful  to  him  then,  but 
later  deemed  foolish.  Now,  as  they  came  back  to 
him,  they  were  easy  and  pleasant  to  let  roll  through 
his  mind.  The  unphilosophical,  irresponsible  gliding 
about  of  the  sad  petas  thin  as  sere  leaves  and  their 
silent  acceptance  of  the  ball  or  nivapa,  the  alms 
set  out  for  them,  now  pacified  Revato,  and  he  was 
continually  slipping  into  self-identification  with 
them.  To  observers  he  seemed  tranquil,  satisfied; 
actually,  his  self-tormenting  faculties  were  jaded. 
Their  lassitude  permitted  his  mind  to  sink  deeper  and 
deeper  into  those  channels  where  thought  flows  on 
without  being  broken  into  ideas  of  things. 

Pleasure  no  longer  tempted  him  nor  sorrow  dis 
turbed.  Observation  had  faded,  reflection  was 
dying  out.  He  hardly  still  perceived,  and  his 
consciousness  had  become  little  more  than  a  mental 
sensation.  This  perhaps  was  not  far  from  the 
Arupaloka,  the  Formless  World,  or  even  the  region 
of  the  Ineffable. 

As  in  the  severed,  remote  past,  he  had  drifted 
down  the  Golden-Armed  River,  he  and  Prote,  in  the 
Nagl  boat  borne  along  with  unperceived  motion,  like 
the  stars  which  floated  in  celestial  Ganga — so  now 
he  was  drifting  down  the  River  of  Life,  on  which  no 
stars  looked,  with  that  same  languor  of  movement 
which  marked  not  the  passage,  whether  fast  or  slow. 
Thus  he  floated  on  and  on  till  the  unwatched  shores 
receded  on  either  side  and  a  swell  came  in  from  the 
sea,  meeting  the  downward  current  and  rocking 
him  drowsily  with  its  interminate  undulations. 

The  approach  of  sleep  all  men  know;  the  entrance 
thereupon  no  man  ever  perceived.  One  may 
critically  study  his  own  preparations  to  fall  asleep, 
but  he  cannot  carry  his  inquiry  to  the  door  of  slumber. 
Thus  it  is  with  death.  That  phenomenon  in  the 
experience  of  each  is  observed  only  from  the  hither 


[99] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


side.  Near  as  we  may  approach  in  anticipation,  we 
go  not  through  the  gate  until  we  are  canceled  from 
the  sum  of  human  knowledge.  Others  who  yester 
day  were  looking  toward  it  with  us  have  already 
made  the  fatal  experiment,  but  what  is  that  to  us? 
We  watched  them  as  they  passed  beyond  yet  we  saw 
nothing,  we  heard  nothing.  So  when  we  go  through, 
Earth  will  be  none  the  wiser.  Of  ourselves  or  of 
another,  the  complete  history  cannot  be  written. 

With  that  inward  life  of  Revato  which  we  have 
so  far  followed — privileged  to  an  intimacy  almost  of 
identity,  beholding  all  things  through  his  eyes — we 


cannot  remain  until  the  end.  We  leave  it  tossing 
easily  upon  the  wide  bay  that  opens  seaward,  idling 
about  for  a  little  while  or  for  a  longer  while  before 
it  drifts  off  upon  the  shadowy  Great  Ocean.  Has  it 
approached  indeed  the  stormy  Samudaya,  beyond 
which  lies  green  Aparagoyana,  the  island  of  the 
West?  There  is  an  Ocean  of  Sangsara,  there  is  an 
Ocean  of  Nibbana,  but  whatever  this  ocean  may  be, 
its  name  is  known  only  to  him  who  sails  forth  upon 
it  in  his  rudderless  craft. 

Revata-  Upasaka-Suttang  Nitthitang 


PARAVARA— EPILOGUE 


(Three  centuries  later) 

Two  foot-travelers  in  alien  dresses  rusty  from 
long  journeys  were  making  their  way  down  the 
valley  of  Ganga  river.  Both  were  light-skinned  and 
heavily  bearded;  but  one  was  gray-haired  and 
acquiline  of  feature,  the  other  straight-nosed  and 
brown,  curly  haired.  They  could  speak  the  Sanskrit 
tongue  but  indifferently  well  and  still  less  fluently 
the  Prakrit  vernaculars,  so  their  acquisition  of  local 
knowledge  as  they  passed  along  was  limited. 

They  observed,  however,  in  the  ruins  of  cities  and 
in  the  jungles  newly  spreading  over  farm  lands, 
evidence  of  recent  wars,  in  which  innumerable  Saka 
and  Mongol  barbarians  had  swarmed  across  the 
northern  deserts,  through  the  high  mountain  passes 
and  over  the  well  watered  plains  in  the  river  valleys, 
carrying  everything  before  them  and  establishing 
their  despotism  over  an  empire  of  culture.  The 
wanderers  learned  that  these  conquering  tribesmen 
had  in  turn  yielded  to  the  vanquished  a  spiritual 
victory.  They  had  embraced  the  religion  of  their 
subjects,  although  perverting  it  with  an  admixture 
of  their  own  idolatrous  practices.  It  had  softened 
and  humanized  them  to  a  marvelous  degree  but  the 
reaction  had  so  changed  the  character  of  the  religion 
itself  that  from  a  simple  puritanism  it  was  becoming 
a  gorgeous  ritual  with  temples  and  gods. 

Much  of  this  the  younger  traveler,  Biophiles, 
learned  from  men  of  his  own  blood  and  language 
whom  he  found  settled  in  some  of  the  earlier  traversed 
lands.  They  had  been  there  before  the  barbarian 
invasion  and,  like  the  wild  tribesmen,  they  had 
succumbed  to  the  native  religion,  repudiating  their 
ancestral  faith  with  its  beauty  and  cultural  value. 
At  this,  however,  Biophiles  failed  to  make  the 
expected  moan,  since  he  also  had  forsworn  his 
country's  gods. 

The  wanderers  had  now  passed  down  to  a  territory 
which  the  barbarian  invasion  had  indeed  swept  but 
from  which  it  had  receded  with  less  effect.  In  this 
region  they  saw  and  heard  of  singular  prosperity. 
The  people  appeared  happy,  their  conduct  seemed 
good  and  examples  of  cruelty  were  not  apparent.  It 


was  told  that  the  taxes  were  fairly  assessed  and  the 
penal  laws  almost  ridiculously  lenient.  The  death 
penalty  was  obsolete  and  even  animal  life  was  held 
sacred  against  every  hand  but  an  outcaste's.  Men 
drank  no  inebriating  liquor.  Those  who  could 
afford  to  be  bountiful  gave  alms  to  establish  in 
firmaries  for  the  needy  and  forlorn.  Even  a  sojourner 
could  not  fail  to  notice  in  the  moral  atmosphere  a 
difference  from  other  countries,  and  if  he  had  crossed 
the  vast  empires  west  of  the  mountains,  this  difference 
was  to  him  overwhelming.  Such  a  happy  singularity 
could  only  be  accounted  for  as  an  ancient  heritage. 

"One  might  almost  believe,"  remarked  the  elder 
man,  "that  here  had  reigned  Melchizedek,  the  king 
of  Peace,  made  like  unto  the  Son  of  God." 

The  pilgrims,  however,  took  note  of  their  sur 
roundings  in  that  reserved  manner  which  estimates 
everything  by  its  usefulness  in  furthering  a  certain 
definite  purpose.  Their  object  was  not  to  acquire 
knowledge,  but  to  impart  it. 

Passing  still  through  this  country  of  good  cheer 
and  following  the  southern  bank  of  Ganga,  they 
reached  a  great  capital  city  where  were  palaces  of 
vast  area  and  many  massive  monuments  carved 
with  grotesque  native  figures.  They  stood  before 
beautiful  edifices,  temples  of  one  and  another  pagan 
sect,  at  which  Biophiles'  face  lighted  up  and  he 
exclaimed: 

"This  is  home,  O  Jehonadab.  My  countrymen 
have  been  here  before  us.  Unknowingly  they  have 
built  a  house  which  shall  be  inhabited  by  the  living 
God." 

"The  living  God  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made 
with  hands,  Biophiles." 

It  was  dusk  when  they  reached  the  eastern  side  of 
the  city,  unsettled  as  yet  upon  an  abiding  place  for 
the  night.  To  a  way-faring  man  a  wealthy  town  is 
less  hospitable  than  the  open  country.  Though  they 
had  learned  to  avail  themselves  of  the  friendly 
village  rest  houses,  they  knew  not  how  to  find  such 
a  place  in  the  metropolis.  They  decided  to  pass 
beyond  its  walls  before  the  gates  should  close  for  the 
night. 


[100] 


THE          LAYMAN          REV    A-'T;,a      \  •//  '•'';'••:  \'*\  \  /•'- 


On  the  eastern  outskirts  of  the  city  was  a  shady 
park  containing  a  high  dome  of  masonry  and  a  large 
block  of  buildings.  Spare-bodied,  shaven-headed 
men  in  tawny  gowns  draped  over  one  shoulder,  were 
coming  and  going  through  the  large  gateway  that 
admitted  to  an  inner  court. 

"Shall  we  not  ask  for  supper  and  lodging  here?" 
suggested  Jehonadab. 

"When  I  was  of  your  age,"  he  continued  musingly, 
"I  dwelt  in  the  deserts  east  of  Jordan  river.  There, 
solitary  or  in  companies,  were  many  holy  men  living 
after  the  manner  of  these  whom  we  see  here,  striv 
ing  to  subdue  the  lusts  of  the  flesh  and  lusts  of  the 
eye  and  pride  of  life.  Our  fellowship  was  not  with 
the  priests  in  the  temple,  who  despise  the  stranger, 
but  with  the  called  of  God  out  of  every  nation. 
Among  us  came  John  and  outdid  us  all  in  self- 
macerations.  There  sojourned  with  us  at  times  the 
Messiah  himself.  He  knew  like  us  the  severance  of 
family  ties,  the  emaciating  fare  of  the  desert,  the 
vigil  in  solitudes  among  wild  beasts.  From  our 
hands  He  received  the  baptism  with  which  to  go  forth 
among  men,  His  body  to  be  soiled  with  the  city,  His 
soul  to  remain  pure  as  the  desert  air. 

"These  brethren,  here,"  continued  Jehonadab, 
"if  they  are  like  others  of  their  Order  whom  I  have 
observed,  are  not  given  unto  austerity  only,  but  to 
righteousness  and  compassion.  Now  it  seems  to  me, 
if  the  Master  were  with  us  that  He  would  lodge  with 
them  gladly;  that  He  would  find  among  them  men 
after  His  heart  and  that  He  would  receive  from  them 
refreshment  both  of  body  and  of  spirit. " 

The  strangers'  application  for  entertainment  was 
received  by  the  monks  with  manifest  surprise,  indi 
cating  that  it  was  somewhat  unusual  in  that  city 
with  its  public  inns  and  officials  appointed  for  the 
oversight  of  sojourners.  They  met  the  request,  how 
ever,  with  all  kindness,  brought  water  and  towels  for 
the  swollen  feet,  oil  for  a  soothing  chrism  and  fresh 
garments  to  replace  the  travel-stained  dress.  Then 
followed  a  simple  supper,  it  being  assumed  that  the 
visitors  were  unhampered  by  the  Order's  own  meal 
time  restrictions. 

Later  they  were  invited  to  the  vihara  of  the  Chief 
Thera,  or  Abbot.  He  summoned  to  aid  in  conversa 
tion  a  certain  monk,  who,  before  he  left  the  world, 
had  been  ambassador  to  one  of  the  Hellenized  coun 
tries  and  was  fluent  in  Yonaka  speech.  The  abbot 
himself  came  and,  speaking  through  this  interpreter, 
said: 

"You  are  welcome,  friends,  to  share  such  things 
as  we  possess — rice  from  a  begging  bowl;  hard 
couches  in  a  bare  cell.  Tell  us,  however,  the  object 
that  has  brought  you  so  far  from  home  as  Jam- 
budipa." 

"We  have  come,  "  answered  Jehonadab,  "to  pro 
claim  our  religion  among  them  who  know  it  not. 
Such  a  journey  for  such  a  purpose  no  doubt  seems  to 
you  a  strange  thing." 

"Why  should  it  seem  a  strange  thing,  Sirs?" 
replied  the  abbot.  "Did  not  our  commissioners 


carry  the  Blessed  Dhamma  into  your  countries? 
You  will  here  find  many  Brahmins  and  others  who 
may  profit  by  what  you  bring.  As  for  us,  we  already 
possess  the  truth,  but  we  will  gladly  attend  to  what 
you  have  to  tell.  You  are  therefore  welcome  to  this 
ancient  dwelling  of  homeless  mendicants  and  to  the 
great  Amalaka  Fruit  monument." 

"For  what  reason  do  you  call  it  the  Amalaka 
Fruit  monument?"  inquired  Biophiles. 

"Because  on  this  spot  Devanam-Piyo  Piyadassi, 
the  same  who  had  sent  his  envoys  of  the  Dhamma 
to  your  land,  when  he  was  stricken  in  years  and  had 
been  deprived  of  his  dominion,  bestowed  upon  the 
brethren  of  that  day  the  single  amalaka  which  was 
all  he  had  left.  "Now  pray  tell  me,  Sir,"  asked  the 
abbot  civilly  addressing  Jehonadab,  "how  many 
rains  have  fallen  upon  you  since  you  abandoned  the 
household  life  to  walk  in  the  Paths  of  your  Law. " 

"It  is  twenty  years  ago  now,  that  the  Lord  called 
me  to  follow  Him,"  answered  Jehonadab  simply. 

"And  you,  friend?"  turning  to  Biophiles. 

"I  am  not  under  law,"  replied  the  young  man; 
"under  Grace  I  have  been  for  only  two  years.  But 
do  not  say  that  I  have  abandoned  the  household  life. 
I  have  at  home  a  wife  and  children  to  whom  I  hope, 
please  God,  some  day  to  return." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  abbot,  able  otherwise  to 
cloak  his  disapprobation.  "And  since  I  began  as  a 
learner  is  twice  the  time  that  you  both  together 
have  spent.  But  it  is  not  only  time  which  signifies. 
Now,"  he  concluded,  "is  the  hour  for  evening  medi 
tations  and  I  must  leave  you  a  while.  Doubtless 
you  have  similar  duties  to  perform  in  accordance 
with  your  own  discipline." 

Later  in  the  evening  the  abbot  rejoined  Jehonadab 
and  announced  his  readiness  to  hear  whatever  the 
travelers  had  to  relate.  Biophiles  had  already  fallen 
asleep,  for  his  energetic,  restless  days  left  much  need 
of  recuperation.  Jehonadab,  however,  sat  up  and 
conversed  with  the  thera  long  into  the  night.  They 
spoke  freely  of  those  vital  concerns  to  which  both 
their  lives  were  devoted  and  which  they  followed 
with  so  similar  a  spirit  that  the  difference  of  expres 
sions  was  no  barrier  to  sympathy.  Jehonadab  dis 
coursed  most  of  the  newly  arisen  Enlightened  One, 
for  proclamation  of  Whose  truth  he  had  undertaken 
this  mission.  The  abbot  marveled  at  his  recital  and 
exclaimed:  "I  had  hoped  to  live  until  the  day  of 
Metteyyo  Buddho,  the  Buddhoof  Kindness,  and  this 
can  be  no  less  than  he." 

From  the  human  phases  of  his  religion,  in  which 
the  thera  was  already  like-minded,  Jehonadab 
passed  on  to  explain  those  tenets  to  which  the 
Dhamma  afforded  no  parallel:  union  of  Universal 
Power  with  Personal  solicitude  and  approachability; 
transmutation  of  pain  to  blessing;  abnegation 
which  is  rest  in  Another;  remediability  of  imperfect 
performance;  hope  for  the  weak-hearted  as  well  as 
for  the  strong;  widening  aspiration.  To  these 
avowals  the  abbot  listened  appreciatively,  yet  with 
a  reserve  which  veiled  any  disposition  to  appropriate 


[101] 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 


them,  any  questioning  of  those  contrary  preoccupa 
tions  long  held  with  so  pure  a  conscience. 

Jehonadab  did  not  press  these  considerations 
farther  at  that  time  but  was  content  to  dwell  upon 
the  masterful  Personality  Who  had  been  expressed 
anticipatorily  in  the  Sakiya  prophet.  He  talked 
from  memory  about  That  One  Who  had  banqueted 
in  sybaritic  halls,  yet  had  known  and  approved  the 
way  of  poverty  and  fasting;  Who  had  honored  the 
marriage  feast,  yet  had  made  and  commended  the 
celebate's  renunciation;  Who  had  worn  Himself  with 
humane  activities,  yet  had  spoken  not  a  word  to 
encourage  worldly  culture  and  progress;  Who  had 
submitted  and  taught  submission  to  authorities,  yet 
Who  had  defied  them  to  the  death;  Who  was  the 
Prince  of  Peace,  yet  the  Lord  of  Hosts — hosts  of  them 
that  patiently  suffer  violence;  Who  had  proclaimed 
liberty  from  the  Law,  yet  demanded  a  righteousness 
above  that  of  the  scrupulous  Pharisee;  Who  had 
taught  a  new  worldly  widsom,  yet  regarded  the 
world  as  a  passing  show;  Who  had  founded  a  King 
dom  which  was  within  it  but  not  of  it;  Who  had  come 
to  bring  more  abundant  life,  yet  conditioned  disciple- 
ship  on  the  repudiation  and  hatred  of  life.  Yea,  and 
so  complexly  fecund  had  been  his  germinal  utter 
ances  that  they  were  springing  everywhere  into 
luxuriant  growth,  differing  in  foliage  and  fruit 
according  to  the  soil  into  which  they  had  fallen. 
Men  of  dissimilar  races,  feelings  and  habits  were 
drawing  from  His  teachings  the  principles  with 
which  to  animate  and  develop  those  elements  of 
most  originality  in  their  own  natures. 

"I  have  often  thought,"  remarked  the  abbot, 
"that  there  are  at  work  in  the  moral  world  two 
opposite  forces.  With  one  force  man  represses  his 
inclinations,  by  the  other  he  assists  them.  The  first 
is  seen  by  the  rising  sun,  the  other  attends  its  going 
down.  In  some  hearts  they  dwell  together,  but  are 
perpetually  at  war.  It  seems  that  in  your  Enlight 
ened  One  they  both  must  have  dwelt,  and  for  once 
lived  at  peace.  Is  not  this  true?" 

"It  is  true,"  answered  Jehonadab. 

"If  you  are  not  too  weary,"  said  the  abbot,  "I 
will  tell  you  a  story  I  had,  when  a  young  samanera, 
from  my  superior,  to  whom  it  came  down  in  the 
Order,  through  the  lips  of  saints  long  since  in  pari- 
nibbana.  It  is  a  story  such  as  only  we  quiet,  pon 
dering  ones  would  care  to  tell  or  hear." 

"Pray,  proceed,"  answered  Jehonadab. 


Then,  so  well  as  it  had  been  understood  and  long 
handed  down;  so  clearly  as  finally  it  could  be  trans 
mitted  through  an  interpreter,  the  abbot  related  to 
Jehonadab  the  story  of  the  Layman  Revato. 

Before  he  finished,  the  false  dawn  had  glowed  and 
faded;  the  light  of  morning  was  ready  to  break. 

"It  occurs  to  me,"  said  the  thera  wistfully,  after 
he  had  ended  the  tale,  "that  if  Revato  could  have 
learned  the  doctrines  of  your  Enlightened  One,  the 
discordant  motives  which  sounded  within  him 
might  have  been  brought  into  harmony  and  the 
problems  which  crushed  him  down  might  have  been 
solved.  Is  not  this  true?" 

"An  impulse,"  replied  Jehonadab,  "urges  me  to 
tell  you  that  it  is  true;  but  a  still  voice  reminds  me 
that  my  religion  is  not  to  be  recommended  by  any 
presumptuous  claim.  The  perfected  harmony  of 
my  Master  could  exist  only  in  His  completeness.  It 
was  broken  when  he  passed  from  earth  and  to  restore 
it  will  be  an  age-long  task.  He  came  to  inspire  men 
for  the  work  of  overcoming  the  world,  not  to  give 
them  a  magic  formula  for  a  world  already  con 
quered.  And  what  is  the  world?  Is  it  only  earth 
and  water  and  stones  and  trees?  Is  it  merely  the 
opposition  of  wicked  men?  No,  it  includes  realms 
of  mind  and  spirit,  of  wisdom  and  duty  with  their 
own  peculiar  difficulties.  He  told  us  many  things 
for  our  guidance,  but  how  many  more  there  are  that 
He  had  no  time  to  tell!  Many  questions  He  an 
swered,  but  how  many  questions  will  hereafter  arise 
that  could  not  have  been  imagined  in  His  day  and 
ours!  How  numerous  will  be  the  perplexities  that 
are  bedded  from  birth  in  the  soul  of  their  unfortunate 
bearer  like  a  crooked  bone  in  his  body!  Our  Lord 
has  begun  for  us  the  age-long  task  of  refashioning 
human  life.  However  much  He  will  aid  us,  it  was 
not  His  promise  that  the  work  would  be  done  before 
labor  to  the  death.  Often  an  elaborate  plan  will 
prove  defective;  many  a  structure  reared  with  travail 
will  tumble  in  ruins  before  it  is  done;  life-long  we  may 
have  to  toil  as  vaguely  as  a  blind  horse  in  a  mill; 
those  workmen  who  were  born  and  live  in  despair 
may  die  therein.  I  firmly  believe  that  the  Master 
Mind  will,  by  this  very  disorganization  and  waste, 
somewhere  achieve  a  perfect  result.  I  trust  that 
there  is  a  goal  for  the  race  of  man  even  here  on  earth, 
although  that  is  a  matter  of  hope  rather  than  of 
assurance.  But  at  any  rate,  He  will  not  withhold 
their  wages  from  those  bewildered  servants  who  have 
made  of  their  work  an  arduous  failure." 


[102] 


MAPS  AND  GLOSSARY 


THE 


LAYMAN 


R    E    V    A    T    O 


3 


GLOSSARY 


Following  is  a  selected  list  of  Pali  words  which  will  aid  the 
reader.  It  has  been  the  practice  throughout  this  book  to  employ 
the  Pali,  rather  than  the  Standard  Sanskrit  form.  Furthermore, 
in  agreement  with  the  judgment  of  Neumann  and  of  Edmunds, 
though  contrary  to  common  usage,  the  actual  nominative  ending 
"o"  for  masculine  nouns  is  followed,  so  far  at  least  as  personal 
names  are  concerned.  I  trust  that  scholars  will  not  be  unduly 
severe  upon  me  for  having  assumed  Pali  as  the  spoken  language 
of  Magadha. 

Ajivaka — Member  of  a  sect  of  ascetics  in  Buddho's  time.  They 
have  been  regarded  as  a  Brahminical  order,  but  this  is  now 
disputed. 

Arahat  (Araha) — A  Saint. 

Ariya — An  Aryan,  here  limited  to  an  Aryan  Hindu. 

Assattha— The  Pipphala,  Bodhi,  Ficus  Religiosa,  Wisdom 
Tree. 

Atta — Self;  the  soul,  or  spirit,  in  a  sense  denied  by  Buddho  as 
against  the  Brahmins. 

Avuso — Friend!    A  familiar  form  of  address. 

Ball — A  religious  offering,  as  of  food  to  tree  deities. 

Bhagava— The  Blessed  One,  Buddho. 

Bhante,  Bhadante — Your  Reverence!    Plural,  Bhadanta. 

Bhatta — A  meal.  Specifically  breakfast,  the  monk's  one  daily 
meal. 

Bhikkhu — Beggar;  Buddhist  mendicant  (title  of  honor). 

Bodhisatto — A  being  destined  to  attain  Buddahood;  applied  to 
Buddho  in  former  births. 

Buddho— The  Enlightened  One. 

Brahmana — A  Brahmin.  The  name  is  applied  not  only  to 
Brahmins  proper,  but  by  the  Buddhists,  in  a  spiritual  sense, 
to  their  own  saints.  Moreover,  since  many  Buddhists  were 
Brahmins  by  caste,  judgment  must  be  used  in  interpreting 
the  name  where  it  occurs. 

Candala — A  man  of  mean  caste,  or  outcaste. 

Deva — A  god;  in  Buddhism,  virtually  a  mere  angel. 

Dhamma — Nature;  thing;  law;  technically,  the  Buddhist  religion. 

Gandhara — A  country  in  the  region  of  the  modern  Candahar, 
Afghanistan,  and  probably  including  some  of  northwest 
India.  It  was  a  meeting  ground  of  the  Buddhist  and  Greek 
civilizations. 

Gatha — A  verse  or  stanza. 

Gijjhakuta — The  Vulture's  Peak  Mountain,  at  Rajagaha. 

Giribbaja— The  Hill  Stronghold,  old  Rajagaha. 

Gotamo  (Skt.  Gautama) — Buddho's  family  name. 

Himavanta,  Himava,  Himacala — Himalaya. 

Jambudipa — The  Rose  Apple  Tree  Island,  of  Buddhist  cos 
mography,  but  practically  the  Buddhist  name  for  India. 

Jambusando — The  Rose  Apple  Grove,  a  term  for  Jambudipa. 

Jataka — A  birth  story,  of  which  there  is  a  collection  containing 
nearly  550,  narrating  Buddho's  exploits  in  former  incarna 
tions. 

Jino — The  Conqueror,  applied  to  Buddho  and  also  to  Mahaviro 
founder  of  the  Niganthas,  or  Jains. 

Kamma  (Skt.  Karma) — Deed,  work;  technically,  the  continuing 
power  of  past  deeds  over  our  destiny. 

Kamo — Wish;  lust;  Cupid. 

Kappa — An  aeon. 

Khattiya  (Skt.  Kshatriya) — A  man  of  the  warrior  caste  or  secular 
nobility,  to  which  Buddho  belonged. 

Lanka — Ceylon. 

Magadha — The  country  of  which  Rajagaha  had  been  capital, 
and  which  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  empire. 

Moriya  (Skt.  Maurya)— The  Peacock  dynasty,  to  which  Asoko 
belonged. 

Muni — A  sage. 


Nibbana  (Skt.  Nirvana) — Extinction  of  evil  and  of  the  properties 
of  being.  It  may  be  entered  in  this  life.  Whether  at  death 
it  means  total  annihilation  has  not  been  settled.  It  must,  of 
course,  be  distinguished  from  the  Vedantist  Nirvana,  which 
is  absorption  in  God. 

Nadi — A  river. 

Nigantha — The  Unfettered,  a  Jain. 

Pabbajja — Giving  up  the  world  to  become  a  monk. 

Pali — That  particular  dialect  of  Sanskrit  in  which  the  Southern 
Buddhist  canon  has  been  preserved.  Traditionally,  it  was 
the  Magadha  vernacular,  which  is  now  disproved,  and  no 
one  knows  just  where  it  was  spoken.  It  may,  however,  have 
been  used  as  the  common  literary  language  of  Buddhism  at 
about  the  period  of  Asoko.  Strictly  speaking,  Pali  denotes 
the  Buddhist  canon,  rather  than  the  language. 

Parajika — Involving  defeat;  applied  to  the  four  great  rules  whose 
violation  was  punished  by  excommunication  from  the 
Order.  They  are  subjects  of  special  treatises  in  the  Vinaya, 
or  canon  law  book. 

Paraloka— The  Next  World. 

Parinibbana — Perfection  of  Nibbana,  death  of  a  Saint. 

Pataliputta — City  of  the  Trumpet  Flower  Sons,  capital  of 
Asoko's  empire.  The  modern  Patna. 

Pinda — Food  given  in  the  alms  bowl. 

Piyadassi  (Piyadasi) — Title  by  which  Asoko  was  known  in  his 
edicts;  believed  to  signify  virtually  "His  Majesty." 

Pukkusa — A  Pukkasa,  outcaste  or  Pariah. 

Rajagaha — The  King's  House,  former  capital  of  Magadha.  It 
comprised  two  neighboring  towns,  the  name  more  properly 
applying  to  the  newer  one.  This  book  has  more  to  do  with 
the  older  one  and  its  environs. 

Saddhamma — Good  Doctrine,  Holy  Law,  True  Religion,  Buddh 
ism. 

Sadhu — Good;  apparently  sometimes  used  in  applause. 

Saka — A  Scythian,  this  vague  term  signifying  tribes  supposedly 
of  Turanian  blood,  yet  whose  possible  identity,  in  one  case, 
with  the  Saxons  in  Asia  is  a  curious  speculation. 

Sakiya,  Sakya — Gotamo  Buddho's  clan.  (Were  we  to  accept  its 
derivation  from  Saka,  we  might  argue  that  he  was  of  Saxon 
blood.) 

Sakyaputtlya  Samana — Sakya-Son  Ascetic,  a  common  term  for 
monks  of  the  Buddhist  Order. 

Sala — The  timber  tree  Shorea  Robusta. 

Sala — House,  room;  hall  in  monastery. 

Samana — An  ascetic;  a  Buddhist  monk. 

Samanera — A  novice. 

Sangsara — Reincarnation. 

Sangha — Assembly,  Society,  Brotherhood,  Buddhist  Order  of 
Monks. 

Sanghariima — Society  Garden,  that  is  to  say,  the  enclosure  and 
buildings  comprising  a  monastery. 

Sattha— Teacher,  Master,  epithet  for  Buddho. 

Sudda — A  Sudra,  member  of  the  fourth,  or  laboring,  caste,  of 
non-Aryan  blood. 

Sutta — A  "thread"  of  discourse;  a  book. 

Takkasila — A  city  in  northwestern  India  famous  as  a  Brahmin 
university  town  and  often  identified  with  the  Taxila  of  the 
Greek  writers. 

Tambapannidipa — Ceylon. 

Tata — My  dear,  my  good  sir. 

Tathagato — A  name  applied  to  Buddho  and  commonly  used  by 
him  for  himself  in  the  third  person,  as  Christ  spoke  of  "The 
Son  of  Man."  The  resemblance  is  still  closer  if  we  accept 
that  interpretation  by  which  it  would  mean  the  "Likewise- 
Goer,"  "Passer  Away,"  "He  Who  Goes  the  Way  of  All 
Flesh."  According  to  later  opinion,  it  signifies  "The  At 
tained  One." 


THE          LAYMAN          REVATO 

Thera— An  Elder,  Senior  Monk.  Vihara — Dwelling;  monastery  cell;  later,  monastery  as  a  whole. 

Thupa — Stupa,   tope,   dagoba,   domed   monument   enshrining   a  Yati — Devotee  of  the  Nigantha,  or  Jain,  order. 

relic.  Yojana — A  measure  of  distance,  seven  miles,  perhaps,  but  un- 
Upasaka— A  Buddhist  lay  adherent.  certain. 

Vassa — Rain;  the  rainy  season  from  June  to  October;  Lenten  Yona,  Yonaka,   or  Yavana — Ionian,   Greek,  foreign.     (I   have 

retreat.  assumed  Yonaki  as  the  feminine  form.) 

Vesiya — A  courtesan.  Yonaloka — the  Ionian  world,  applicable  to  Graeco-Indian  col- 
Vessa — A  Vaisya,  member  of  the  third,  or  burgher,  caste,  the  onies  and  presumably  to  Greece  proper. 

lowest  of  Aryan  blood.  Yuvana — Young. 


[106] 


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